Renegade
by College Fool
Summary: Now a collection of oneshots. Various encounters and viewpoints offering a glimpse of a True Renegade, the Butcher of Torfan, a man defined as "a Good man, but remember that Good isn't Nice and Nice isn't Good." On temporary but indefinite hiatus.
1. Quis custodiet ipsos Renegade

Something of a character piece, one take on how even Renegades can do Paragon actions.

Plus, ever notice how Garrus and Shepard ever get face time unless it's a FemShep romance? There really should be more straight-up friendship fics.

I don't own Mass Effect. At all. Haven't even played the game.

Edit 2: Now a general collection of one shots, written as I have time and will. Same general Shepard, unless specified otherwise. Various secondary characters.

---

**Quis custodiet ipsos Renegade?**

'Who watches the Renegade?'

---

_Quis custodiet ipsos custodies_

---

Garrus nearly marched to the pickup point, thoughts of Sidonis flying through his head. The traitor was alive, the bastard walked free… and yes, Garrus wasn't furious at the thought. Not as he had been before. He was, but he wasn't at the same time, after seeing Sidonis's state. A state he wouldn't have seen if not for the unexpected interjection of one man.

Shepard arrived in the flying car just as Garrus did. The car top opened, and the N7 officer's face was visible even through the narrow visor of his helmet: withering dermal scars and glowing red eyes that suggested anything but mercy.

And yet this is the man who had stood between and his target, with nothing but his own shields and Garrus's restraint protecting Sidonis until Garrus let him leave alive. Shepard. The colonist, the Butcher of Torfan who had both his allies and far more of his foes killed, for revenge of Mindoir.

Why now? That was the question that flew highest in Garrus's mind.

"I know you want to talk about this… but I don't. Not yet," he said in way of greeting.

"Did I ask?" Shepard returned strongly. Garrus had years of experience understanding human tones and facial expressions, but Shepard was often an exception. His thoughts could be so far removed, it was almost as if they were conceived in another world.

"Get in," commanded Shepard, and Garrus did.

Not another unnecessary word was spoken until they reached the Normandy.

---

Later on, back at his usual station, when Garrus heard the steps coming down the hall he naturally assumed they were Shepard's, come to talk over the recent mission as was his habit. Which was good, because he felt ready to talk, to have things out with Shepard. But when the Turian turned around, it wasn't the Commander. It was the XO, the Cerberus Agent, Miranda.

Garrus raised an eyebrow in silent question, and was slightly pleased that it didn't make the scar ache. But Miranda's own question made such joy fleeting.

"What happened to Shepard?" the ship's second in command demanded.

"I beg your pardon?" Garrus asked, not understanding.

Miranda was not amused: her glare made that much apparent. "I'll say it again. What. Happened. To. Shepard? Answer the question, Turian." She was leaning forward, one hand meaningfully resting on that impractical pistol belt of hers.

Garrus looked at her, looked at the little human trying to intimidate him, over a mission where he if anyone was the wronged party, and turned away.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," he said, and made to resume with his work.

The tell-tale beep and configuration of a mass-effect pistol being armed, well that made him stop again.

"Anything that affects this mission is my business, which means anything that affects Shepard is also my business. You were the last one with Shepard, as the two of you went on your own little side quest. And yet, once you return, Shepard comes to me, requisitions all the strongest alcohols on the ship, and turns command over to me with final instructions being not to bother him for anything short of a reaper before going to his quarters."

"I can't say I've ever heard or seen him like that, Garrus, and you were the last one he spoke to. Explain," she demanded.

Garrus didn't get where he was by being intimidated by people with guns. They both knew that whatever the cause now, Shepard's reaction to the shooting of a team member would be worse. But they were a team, after a fashion, and they would have to work together. He would certainly be making the same threats if it were the fault of another person.

"Shepard and I went to track down a traitor named Sidonis, who got my team killed," Garrus summarized. "Shepard lured him out in person, while I had them in my sights. All Shepard had to do was move." Miranda nodded, signaling him to continue. She thought she knew what came next. "But he didn't, and wouldn't until I listened to Sidonis had to say. And then he convinced me to spare his life."

Miranda's eyes focused in thought as she lowered the pistol.

"That doesn't sound like Shepard," she said, stating the obvious.

"I know, but that's what he did," Garrus said. "Hardly said a word after about why, either."

"Then maybe you should go ask," Miranda suggested. "He sure isn't opening his door for me."

"Maybe I should," Garrus agreed.

---

In the end, Shepard didn't open the door, despite Garrus's polite attempts (knocking) and more direct (hacking) approaches. It was EDI who opened it, with a not-so-inspiring warning.

"Commander Shepard has consumed dangerously high levels of intoxicants," the shipboard AI advised. "His behavior may be… erratic."

Stepping inside, Garrus got his first real view of the Captain's quarters… and quickly stopped when a bottle flew into the wall in front of him, crashing with enough force that it would have triggered a kinetic barrier.

"Who's there?" demanded Shepard's voice.

"It's Garrus," he alerted. "Am I going to get another bottle in the face if I step in?"

There was a pause of audible decision. "No, come in," Shepard allowed. There was no apology, and Garrus noted that the bottle must have been simply the closest thing at hand. As he turned the corner to look into the commander's study, Shepard's hand wasn't filled with another bottle: it held a wicked looking knife Garrus had only seen used a few times.

"What do you want, Garrus?" the scarred specter asked, absently flipping the knife. When he noticed Garrus's gaze on it, he suddenly became aware of it, and placed it on the desk and grabbed another drink.

"Shepard… you are a mess," Garrus said, ignoring the question and looking at the litter around Shepard, who himself was covered in drips and dribbles of spilled liquor. Bottles of everything covered the desk, littered the floor, filled the rubbish bin. The only clear spaces were devoted to mementos and awards the commander had won. A few photographs as well: of the old Normandy, the old crew, a smaller, personal photo of the late Chief Ashley Willion, though it was hard to see behind the wines, beers, whiskeys, and…

"You've been drinking too much," Garrus said, striding over and taking the next drink out of Shepard's hand. Shepard didn't resist, but complained none the less.

"I have the right to," he said, somehow not slurring words. "I'm the Commander here. Let me have my occasional vices."

"You're a damn drunk," Garrus said, "and somehow I got stuck dealing with it. Here," he said, and was soon making Shepard stand. "We'll get you cleaned up."

Shepard didn't resist, but he didn't help. Garrus would have been more concerned, enough to call in Doctor Chakwas, except that it was clearly by choice. Instead of calling for help, instead of interrogating Shepard for why, he was rambling idle complaints while helping a drunk human to the shower.

"Certainly not the way we handle stress on Turian ships," he said. "Drinking to excess? You're just making things worse if an emergency comes. You should consider taking a page from us."

"Then how do you do it?" Shepard asked lazily, even as he looked longingly towards the wine bottle on the desk.

"Fighting, mostly," Garrus admitted. "Sometimes a bit more… personal engagements."

Shepard snorted. "You mean sex. Yes, I can definitely see the connection between violence and sex. Sadly, Garrus, you aren't exactly my type, and if we fought right now, I'd kill you."

Garrus raised an eyebrow as they stepped into the refresher room. "You? Kill me? Shepard, you can hardly stand." To make his point stronger, he took Shepard's arm off him and gently pushed Shepard into the corner. Shepard slid down until he was on the ground. "See?"

"Wouldn't be too hard," Shepard said, not even raising his head. "Kick left leg into right kneecap, taking advantage of Taurian joints to dislocate. As target falls, use right arm to twist falling body to right. Roll over onto dominance position. Jab eyes, and while target recoils in pain, take opening to crush throat from superior position." He said it as calmly and surely as anything he had ever done sober, and Garrus realized he meant it.

"That's pretty morbid, Commander," Garrus stated. "You think like that all the time?"

"All the god-damn time, for every god-damn person," he said with irrational cheer. "Kept me alive this long, through Torfan and beyond. Now be a good man and turn on that shower, would you please? If I'm going to talk, might as well sober up a bit."

Garrus did, and stepped back as the water began to soak his friend and nominal superior. "That doesn't sound like a fun way to live your life."

Shepard shrugged. "It's like seeing or breathing to me. I see someone, and I start thinking 'How could I puncture that Quarian's suit in the fewest moves?' or 'how many steps will it take to place shotgun to Krogan throat?' And it just doesn't stop. Wouldn't want it to stop, or else Torfan would have been wasted."

Garrus sighed. Before he was a Spectre, long before he was Savior of the Galaxy, Garrus and the rest Galaxy had only heard of him as the Butcher of Torfan, the murder, done in revenge of Mindoir. Many dramas had been made of it.

"It all comes back to Torfan for you, doesn't it?"

"Damn straight," Shepard agreed as the shower continued to soak his uniform. "Mindoir made me. Torfan defines me. Everything else, not so much."

"Not Saren? Not Sovereign?"

Shepard let out a snort of derision. "Anyone could have taken care of them, if they had just acted. Some orphan from the slums of Cape Town, or some pretty-girl war hero. Lots of people could have stopped Saren. But they wouldn't be me. I'm me, and I can't be anything else and still be me. And that's why I'm not going to apologize for contemplating murdering every single god-damn person I see, and I'm not going to feel sorry for taking whatever steps are necessary for the greater good."

Garus sat on the only convenient chair, the porcelain thrown, and rested his head on his clasped hands. "You're a strange person, Shepard," he said. "There are times I've seen you mow down criminals in cold blood, and then the next day you'll cut a deal with the leader of a crime syndicate to get it change its priorities to lesser crimes. You sacrificed a number of hostages to stop Balek at Terra Nova, and yet you went to extreme lengths on Feros to save the colonists from the Thorian. And yet now you tell me even as you did that, you were planning on how to kill them? What's your measure, Shepard?"

"The greater good. It's always been for the greater good. Crime exists, so it may as well be organized to be less harmful to people. Balek would have repeated his actions if he got away, and more would have died. No one else had to die on Feros, and so they didn't. What's so hard to understand, Garrus?" And here, Shepard's voice softened fractionally from its legendary confidence. "What's hard to see about that? Why don't other people understand?" He almost sounded… lost. And Garrus found himself asking what many an alien had wondered since first hearing of Shepard.

"And Torfan?" he asked. "Was that necessary? Was that for the greater good? Murdering even those who surrendered, and wasting so many men to do it?"

Shepard looked up, through Garrus, and said "Yes."

And rage flowed through Garrus, as if he were the one who had been drinking. He rose and advanced on Shepard, who made no move to defend. He grabbed the human's shoulder, and slammed him back into the wall.

"Why?!" he demanded, anger and confusion of the past days and years venting now. "Damn it Shepard, what gives you the right? You're no paragon of virtue, you're a renegade if I've ever seen one! How do you justify that, when you hold me to higher standards? You're a hypocrite, if you think it's alright for you to have revenge but not me! First you stayed my hand at Doctor Saleon, and now Sidonis? When you can justify killing freely yourself?"

Shepard raised on hand to firmly grip the hand on his own shoulder, and met his eyes.

"Do you think Torfan was about revenge?" he asked.

Garrus opened his mouth to say yes, to repeat what every alien _knew_ was the reason, and then stopped.

"Torfan wasn't about revenge," Shepard said, honest frankness coming from his intoxication, "though that was satisfying. Torfan was about saving lives. Garrus, more lives were saved by my actions at Torfan than anything else that could have been done there." Seeing that Garrus didn't understand, he continued.

"Garrus, I didn't kill the Batarians at Torfan for personal revenge. I killed them to send a message. If I had spared them, the Alliance would have won the battle more cheaply, yes. But the Batarians would have seen it as the usual Alliance half-steps: to only do the bare minimum, and nothing more. That you could attack, could raid and slave as much as you want, but all you had to do was put up a tough enough fight and then you could get off with your life and spend the next decade fighting in an Alliance court with what lawyer you could afford."

"I changed that. I made them realize that there were those who wouldn't give them a chance to nicely lay their guns down after fighting. I made them realize that if they fought, they would die, brutally and painfully. And I made them believe that body counts wouldn't save them, that we would be willing to spend the lives to bring them to justice. I made them learn fear."

"Garrus, between Torfan and Eden Prime, I fought perhaps a half dozen battles, but brought an end to dozens of standoffs. I became the Alliance's ace in negotiations: surrender now, or we send in the Butcher of Torfan. And quite often, they surrendered. Straight to jail, no damn-fool trials. No lives lost charging defenses to force a surrender. No property destruction. No weeping mothers learning that their son did their duty in dying to kill some two-bit hostage taker. And I never had to set foot on those battle fields."

"I've saved more Alliance and Batarian lives by being ruthless than I lost at Torfan. I knew this at Torfan. What I did, Garrus, I did for the greater good. I brought those people to justice and I saved lives. If I spend lives to take down the worst monsters in the galaxy so that fewer others die, that's the cost I will pay."

Garrus looked back at Shepard, and realized he might well be the first person Shepard had ever admitted this to. Anyone else, anyone who might spread the truth, the effect, the legend, could be shattered beyond repair. And yet, Shepard was holding out on something.

"Doctor Saleon?" he asked again, but with less anger.

"More useful alive than dead. He could have told us things to help other people."

It was true. It was logical. And it was also a lie; they had recovered the data from Saleon's ship. There was something more.

"And Sidonis?" Garrus asked, broaching the question he had been fixated on since the mission.

And Shepard said nothing.

"And Sidonis?" Garrus asked again. "Why did you save him Commander? You knew I could have put rounds through your head to get to him, and yet you didn't move. You knew that if you had moved, I would have taken the shot and then happily gone on this suicide mission with you. So why?"

And still Shepard said nothing, just letting the shower continue to drench them both.

"Damn it, Shepard," Garrus exclaimed, shaking him again, "I have to know why. You claim to seek the greater good, and yet think of ways to kill friend and foe alike. You appeal to bringing justice, yet you forced me to hold my fire at two monsters." Garrus sighed, and put a hand to his forehead.

"Shepard," he confessed, "you are my friend, and you are my commander. I'm going to follow you. But if you want me to be loyal, I must know _why_."

He wondered if Shepard would respond, if Shepard even still cared. Before he gave up, though, Shepard's lips moved.

"_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes_?" Shepard said, repeating it. "Who watches the watchman?"

"Garrus, I've done a lot of horrible things in the name of the Greater Good. What's concerning is that I don't feel any guilt about it. What's alarming is that I don't care that I don't feel any guilt. I am a fanatic for the Bigger Picture stuff. Sometimes, when I'm drunk like this, I know that the difference between myself and Saren was that Saren found Sovereign first. I'm under no illusions: Sovereign could have twisted me through Indoctrination just like he did Saren, convince me that the best path was a bet towards marginal survival. And then I would have been the rogue, and Saren would have been the one on the right side of history."

He held up a hand to ward of Garrus's protest, that Shepard wouldn't have been used.

"Garrus, two self-righteous fanatics was bad enough. One almost destroyed the galaxy, and it took another to stop him. Three?" His raised hand turned into a finger pointing at the Turian in front of him.

"You are not allowed to become like me," Shepard said, dictating a rule. "You're a good man, Turian, whatever. You have a strong sense of right and wrong, and I respect that. In a lot of ways, we are so similar, it's not surprising you're inclined to adopt in my world view."

"But I need you to believe in rules and limitations, Garrus. I need you to realize that thinking you are right doesn't make you so. Because one day, I'm going to do something very wicked in the name of the what's best. And when that day comes, the galaxy will need you to stop me, not help me. If I become the threat to the greater good, I'm as expendable as everyone else. Oh, I'll hate it at the time. I'll ask you to help me, persuade you to join me, curse you for failing me. I certainly won't appreciate it. But it's not about what I want, and it's not about gratitude: it's about what's _right_."

Shepard was honest. Shepard was frank, possibly franker than he had been with anyone in years. And Garrus was the first in too long to get a glimpse of what went on in Shepard's head.

"That's it?" Garrus asked, almost incredulous. "That's why you wouldn't let me shoot them in anger? For the greater good, because you don't trust yourself and don't want me thinking like you?"

"I trust you," Commander Shepard admitted, and it was three words that meant more than all the accolades of C-SEC. "The galaxy needs Good, Garrus. But it also needs Justice. If you kill a hundred mercs because they're scumbags who terrorize innocents, that's a darker Justice than most, but you're doing it for something other than yourself. But if you kill just one bastard because it's _personal_… trust me, you can never go back."

Shepard rolled his head, giving a little laugh that made his red scars bend in unseemly ways. "I'm not saying I want you to be a by-the-book asshat. You do that, I'll drop you, simply because I do too many bad things for the right reason. But I need someone who can see the difference between the little and big picture when he's not drunk, and one willing to correct me when I go too far astray. And if that requires me to be a nice guy every once in a while… it's for the best, of everyone involved."

Shepard paused, visibly concentrated, and then concluded with "And if you tell anyone I told you this, I'll swear on my parents' grave that you're a damn liar. Have to protect the reputation, for the greater good you know."

"I… see," Garrus said, not bothering to hide a smile as he stood up. "I think I understand, but I definitely want to think about it."

Shepard gave a little wave. "Don't think too much on it, Garrus: it'll ruin it. Just be yourself, only a bit more so."

Garrus laughed. "Thank you for that wisdom, Commander. I'm glad we had this discussion."

"Any time I'm this drunk," Shepard said. "Though, Garrus, if you could do me a favor…?"

Garrus raised an eyebrow in question, and Shepard actually looked… sheepish.

"Could you get me some of those unopened bottles? I don't think I can stand up at the moment."

"Probably best you not drink anymore then, eh Commander?" Garrus said, a glimmer in his eye. "Wouldn't be for the best. _Quis custodiet ipsos custodies_, right?"

"Son of a bitch," Shepard swore, but he was laughing to.


	2. He Remembers Her

Quite frankly, one of the best scenes from Mass Effect gets no love. Or mention.

Male Shepard/Renegade

Secondary Character: Talitha

---

**He Remembers Her**

---

He's been called heartless, a monster. And there's good cause for it; of the many things that define Shepard, common human decency is rather low on the list.

But one thing that always impressed people, for better or worse, was the fact that you could be a Minister or a duct rat and still Shepard would never forget your name.

---

_She is a mess, but a slave can't do much better. She is wavering on her feet, too distraught to stay still. The gun in her hand waves wildly, but proximity makes it a threat._

_But she held it between them as if it were the only thing keeping them apart. The only thing keeping him from enforcing his will on her._

_"S-stop, stop!" she cries. "What do you – What are you?"_

_Panic begets chaos, and chaos begets death. Force begets stability, from which all progress comes. _

_"First, don't point that at me," he warns firmly. "Second, I'm Commander Shepherd, Systems Alliance. Who are you?" It isn't soft or gentle. It is a command… but commands are familiar to her. Safe._

_She obeys, weary from fear. "Animals don't get names," she informs. "The masters put their symbols on her. Hot metal all over her back. She screams when they do it." It was impersonal. Clinical, if not for the wavering of distress in her voice._

_The Masters were dead. Their concerns weren't important. His are. "Don't give me that," he challenges, replacing dominance of old with a new dominance of the now. "I don't want to hear what those bastards called you. I want your name. The one you were born with."_

_She submits. She had submitted her entire life, but for once it wasn't to a Batarian who would use her as property. She was submitting to him. "Talitha," she whispers. "They call her that. S-she doesn't remember the rest. Leave her alone!" It is a cry, a plea of the powerless._

_There were four types of relationships Shepard had with others: you could lead him, follow him, get out his way or be crushed under his boot._

_He had not gotten where he was by obeying the powerless._

---

Shepard remembered your name. Shepard remembered just about anything you told him, even without writing it in his omni-tool. Even in the age of genetic engineering, where mind and memory could be improved, Shepard had something more.

To those who trusted him, who had nothing to fear or were too stupid to do so, it meant that when they spoke to him, it was in confidence. Shepard did not gossip unbidden, did not freely talk behind someone's back in petty conspiracies and whispers. Shepard didn't betray trust without reason.

To others, to those who lived in fear of betrayal or judgement, it was nerve-wracking. Shepard had opinions. He made no secret of what he thought about you, if you only asked. If he thought it proper and for the greater purpose, he would betray your trust, use your darkest secrets against you. You only trusted to Shepard what you could afford to be used against you.

Shepard didn't just hear you out. When you talked, Shepard _listened._

---

_A step. One part closer. Not close enough, and yet too close._

_"No! She's no good! Don't want to be handled again!" Talitha shouts, the gun waving even faster. _

_He stops. Not defeated, but looking to go through her fear another way. This one, she- Mindoir-_

_" What's the last thing you remember from Mindoir?" he asks. It was unusual. He hasn't thought of his birthplace (not home, home is where the heart is and he-) he hasn't been there in years. But as he listens, unbidden memories flow through. A blink, a tick in his cheek are the only signs as she recounts both their memories._

_" Fires. Smells of smoke and burning meat. Animals screaming as the masters cage them. As they put the metal to their backs. Put the wires in their brains."_

_She continues her own story now._

_"She pretends to be dead. If she's dead, she can't work. But they know. She hopes they'll leave. But they put her in the pen."_

_She lowers her head, and her gun, though he doesn't seize the opening. He wants, needs, to hear. She is Mindoir. He was Mindoir. Had things been different, would he-?_

_"She didn't fight. She was already broken when they put the wires in." He sees it in her shoulders, hears it in her words, sees it in her eyes. She is beaten. She is beaten even now because she believes she is. She is still capitulating to a force that had no interest in mercy._

_He doesn't hesitate to firmly correct her. "The past is the past. You couldn't have fought them off when you were a child. They were bigger than you. There were more of them. They would have killed you."_

_It holds true for him as well. He leaves it open for her to see it. _

_" She wants to believe that. She wants to believe that nothing would change." But she… not doesn't, but can't. Won't. It would be too good, too convenient. An excuse._

_She doesn't want an excuse, a pardon for failing a fight she never had a chance in. She is not so articulate, but he understands. He is the same way._

_ "She doesn't want to be there anymore! In the pen. In the cages. Lying quiet while they do things to her." Her words are sad, angry at herself, but defiant in that anger. He can taste that nascent resistance, the essence of blood and pain, and wills it to enflame with his own._

_But she doesn't know that flames burn brighter together. She sees herself, her own pitiful state, and yet she's still… he doesn't have a word for it, except good, but she won't let herself foul him._

_"Don't come near her! She's dirty! You'll catch it!"_

_Him! She's trying to protect **him! **_

_He knows that she won't give up. He won't let her, because she won't let him._

---

Psychologists have tried for some time to analyze Commander Shepard. A comprehensive profile on the first human Spectre with such a history, after all, would be quite the career accomplishment. Yet despite the number, accounts are as varied as they are many.

Part of it is that Commander Shepard loathes talking with them. While most patients trust in the patient-doctor confidentiality, will find ease in the intimacy of an Asari melding, Shepard does not. The number of Asari who have melded minds with him can be counted on one hand, and all have sworn to the secrets of whatever lies in his mind, whether out of fear or respect for those hidden thoughts. Like a reporter interested in a recluse who refuses to have an interview, the best glimpses come from those associated with him.

Those views are not uniform. But they illustrate a few guiding principles that guide the man.

Shepard will accomplish the mission, at all cost.

Shepard respects strength and character.

Shepard will not give up.

Shepard pushes those he has interest in to do the same.

---

_Another step. Another cry, warning about contaminating him. He presses himself, and her, on._

_"How did you get here? Did you escape?" he asks. He would, now. He has in the past. _

_But like him, she was a child then. She never learned how when it mattered._

_"She can't escape. They have chains. Wires. Needles. You go too far, they take your brains away."_

_His mind is his one recluse, his one sanctuary. The mere thought of violating it makes his blood boil, makes every encounter with an Asari a contest of self-control versus xeno-slaughter. Yet she, Talitha, has had to deal with it since… for too long._

_"Animals like her come. Animals with guns. They make the masters explode," she says calmly, but then becomes frantic in fear. Fear of punishment, fear of failure. "She tries to fix the masters! So they won't be mad at her! She puts all the reds and purples back in, but they don't move!"_

_She calms in defeat, bipolar mood swings in full view. The stress is cracking her._

_"The other animals take her."_

_" You hid from humans. Why?" he tries to understand what he hears. "The marines who rescued you. They were the first humans you'd seen in thirteen years. But you tried to heal your captives. Why?"_

_She explains, and he almost wishes she hadn't. If it happened to her, then it could have been him. "If the animals can see her, then this is real. But it can't be. The wires. The chains. The hitting." She shakes her head, and then becomes angry and desperate._

_"This doesn't happen to her. It's another girl. A dirty girl. A stupid girl. She deserves it!" she screams it, the echoes in the port even more damning in the relative silence. People, aliens, watch her. They aren't moving. They only watch her._

_But she only watches him. Her eyes beseech him, wanting something he can not, will not, give. A lie. A comforting falsehood to believe in. He could say it never happened, and she would believe it because she wants to believe it. But then she would be crippled forever._

_ "It- it happens to her. Doesn't it?" The last is so plaintive, he wonders if she will repeat it. But she doesn't. She sees the truth in his expression. She sees him, that he sees her. Whether she can't or has decided not to, she doesn't run from the truth._

_ "They see her, so it's real. But she doesn't want it to be real."_

_But she's accepted it. She hasn't stood, but she isn't crawling away from the truth._

_She's close. She's finding her feet on the ground, and if she can get to her knees she-_

---

"It's not that he doesn't have friends," Corporal Sing says to the interviewer. It's a week after Torfan, and everyone is trying to find out about what happened there. Sing is one of the first to come forward. "It's just, he doesn't go out looking for understanding; you either get along with him or not. If you do, he'll talk with you. If you don't, he won't. He doesn't care what you think of him: not in some too-cool-to-care way that's popular with the bad boys in the holo-vids, but he really doesn't. It's about as relevant to him as who won the Super Bowl last year. It's all about the job first, and he might have a big disagreement with you one minute and then totally forget about it an hour later when it comes to work. He keeps his personal life and business life separated by a blast door."

Rumors have been flying. Tales taller than Everest, of the Butcher. Everyone wants to know.

"Would you describe him as impersonal, then?" prompts the interviewer.

Sing snorts. "He isn't your best bud on the battlefield who looks out for you in particular, if that's what you mean. So in that case, yeah. He'll order his friends to danger just like anyone else. He's open about it too."

"But, you can go to him on your off time, and he'll work with you. It doesn't matter what: personal disagreements, issues in the squad, even problems back home. He'll work with you, for you, just to make the mission go better."

"Was there anything in particular he did for his men that stands out as worth noting?"

"He was honest about our chances, and offered us all a Last Request. Any one thing he could do to put our minds at ease and focused before the mission, big or small, he did. You didn't have to like him to appreciate that."

---

_"I was on Mindoir," he admits to her. It's not something he normally brings up: what he says next is common knowledge to everyone familiar with the legend of the Butcher of Torfan. "My parents died in the raid."_

_It doesn't inspire calmness or closeness. Instead, the gun goes up again, pointing at his face. _

_" Lying! You get hit for lying!" she shouts. "Get the buzz or the burning. Can't be there. Why are you alive?! Why are you- -" she demands, is demanding, as her fury crashes down like everything else about her. "Why aren't you like her?" she asks, pleads. "Broken. Only fit to dig and carry."_

_He hammers one hand into the palm of the other. "Nobody breaks me. I fought," he states. "My whole family fought, and got hit by an artillery strike for the trouble." He's looking at her in the eye, daring her to contest his parent's deaths, but she doesn't. She's wide eyed, awed, and he admits what separated them. Perhaps all that separated them._

_"I got buried under rubble. If they saw me, they left me for dead." He had been older than she had been at the time. Just coming into the teenage years. Still a child in so many ways, like her. He implied, would like to believe that, he would have fought to the death, even in captivity. But then, most everybody thinks that. If the difference between the two of them had been the laziness of their attackers… _

_But she looked at him in awe, almost worshipful. "Dead animals can't work. You lose your mommy and daddy. But you don't dig. You don't carry. You stand up."_

_He nods. To say it had been easy would have been misleading. But it hadn't been hard. There hadn't been any other choice but to move on. There had been nothing to return to, no one to call home. No point in looking back._

_Talitha trusts him now, he knows. More than that. It's in her stance, her face. The gun isn't pointed at him anymore, even in his direction, and her worries as he approaches have been about contaminating him. He is an Alpha, is dominating her, and in her state she's putting everything she has left into him. Trust. Hope. Understanding. Unconditional reliance. He could crush what's left of her with ease, and she has no reason but her own desire to think that he won't. If she weren't so damaged otherwise, he could send her against Saren and she would go, just for his acceptance._

_ It could be said he intended this. He recognizes parts of himself in her, what-could-have-beens and alternatives. He knows what to say because he knows how she thinks, because she thinks how he does, would have. He is playing her mind like his own, because in a sense it is. He owns her now, heart and soul, in a way the slavers never did and never could. Because he was there, he understands, he doesn't judge her for failing, and he's offering her something she wants more than anything else. _

_She looks up to him, desire and longing for what he has and she wants, and says "She wishes she could stand up."_

_He knows she will, just like he did. It just took her a bit longer._

---

"Commander?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"

"Go ahead," Shepard allowed. "I won't mind, but I might not answer it."

"At the Citadel… why did you give Saren that chance?" Alenko asked. "You talked to him. Talked him down, to the point he turned the trigger on himself. I won't deny that it was better than having to fight it out, but- I didn't expect that from you."

"Why not?" Shepard asked. It wasn't a challenge, but an honest question.

"He'd been our enemy since the beginning. You've been tracking him down since the start. I've been with you long enough to know that you give people one chance before the fighting breaks out before you take no prisoners."

"It was before the fight, Lieutenant," Shepard reminded. "And I did have to stop him by any means possible."

"I- that's not what I meant, Skipper," Alenko said. "If it was just to complete the mission, yeah, I could see it. But you could have done it by killing him as well. Yet you gave him a chance."

"What's your point, Lieutenant?" asked Shepard.

"Commander, he killed Ash."

There was silence. Shepard turned back around and looked out the viewport, at the space outside of the Normandy.

"Alenko, Saren didn't kill Williams. I killed her. When I returned to secure the bomb, we all knew what was going to happen. My choice was my own, not Saren's."

"Sir, I didn't mean that-" Shepard held up a hand.

"No offense taken," Shepard affirmed. "But I think I can answer your question."

"Saren was like me. A man who made the wrong decision for the right reasons. He was struggling with it on Virmire, I saw it when we spoke. I gave him the chance to see his mistake: if he hadn't, yes, I would have killed him, and gladly. But the Citadel was the climax of his chance that I gave him earlier. I know I'm a difficult man to deal with sometimes, Lieutenant," he continued.

"About all the damn time, sir," Alenko interjected with a slight grin.

"-but I do believe in giving everyone the full opportunity of their chance before I kill them."

---

_He's at arm's length now, and the pistol hasn't wavered in his direction for some time. He could administer the sedative by force. He can hand it to her. But this rapport… it's as much for him as her now. She is His. His Alternative, his responsibility. He needs to see this through, to prove to himself that what he is now isn't just a matter of chance and fate, that he could still have come to this point even if things had gone different._

_" What happened to your parents?" he asks. She responds by looking at memories long since hidden away. _

_" There's—she sees them. They're yelling. Run. Hide. They hit the masters. But the masters, they have lights and hoses. Daddy's—he's melting!" she cries as the memories become all to vivid._

_"Sh- she doesn't want to see that! Don't make her look!" she pleads, and then turns the command to herself. "Don't look! Stupid. Stupid!"_

_"Be strong!" he orders, with more authority than any slaver ever did to her. "I don't want to hear that! You survived thirteen years in a slave pen. You're strong enough to deal with a memory." When put like that, it's seems so easy. A memory. Weightless, mass-less. No amount of e-zero could ever turn it into something to harm her. A trivial matter of will to overcome._

_" She's not strong," Talitha protests, the words 'not like you' lingering. "She's weak and stupid. All humans are. That's what the masters say." Yet, the Masters are dead. He is here. He is Here in a presence, dominating her to dominate herself. And despite her own words, she returns to those memories._

_"She sees them. Mommy and Daddy. Burning in white light. Melting. Going to pieces. They can't even say anything to her." It's remarkably calm, and she looks him square in the eye for the first time. "They're dead, Shepard. They try to save her, and the Masters burn them."_

_It's painful. She's tired, but she hasn't dropped her gaze, seeing him as… equal? Companion? Fellow traveler? No. It is clear he is dominant, he is still Most Important. But is no longer Master and Dominion, Superior and Inferior, but rather He is Commander and She is not. So she asks, not begs, just like any of his team might._

_"Can she stop remembering them now? Please?"_

_He lets her, and why not? She has the will to decide. She has succeeded._

---

It's not right to say that Shepard doesn't care. It's not right to say that he does. In a world of black and white morality, Shepard's is red and blue. To get the greater good, in a warped mind's view of what the good even is, he can both be terrifying and inspirational.

It's not the right or wrong. It's not the rules or conventions. It's the struggle, the journey to the zeitgeist. Hold whatever beliefs you want, do whatever you will, but be strong and true, and accept the consequences. That is what he will push you to, because it's all he understands to do to show his favor.

Shepard's Red and Blue morality means many things. He does not think like you or I. You cannot simplify his views to a few pages of text, not really. Trust in this text absolutely, and you will be led astray.

But you can understand this: in his own way, Shepard is a good man, and wants what's best for more than just himself.

---

_She has won over herself, and it is time for her to heal. He knows he will miss her, Talitha, a girl (woman) he has just met. It's likely not healthy, developing this strong a connection so fast. He knows little of her. She knows less of him. Their experiences are so widely different. The only thing they have in common is one event, during which they were in entirely different regions and experienced entirely different fates._

_But they think alike, at a level below environment and conditioning. They survive. They not only endure, not only strive to stand, but they do. She understands him in a way almost no one else does, and he understands her in a way no one else will._

_He will miss her, he realizes. More than his parents or lost comrades, because she is alive and he could choose differently, whereas the dead are impossible. But she needs to heal, physically, and form her basis for her life. He wishes he could be part of it, or that she could be part of his basis. In her future, he sees… potential. Even normality. He had chosen differently on his path, but she, she still has a chance to decide. He will not deny her it, if that is what she chooses. And she will choose._

_He makes his next action in the same mindset that allowed him to send good men and women to their deaths._

_"Talitha," he says, offering up the sedative "this will make you go to sleep. If you fall asleep, they'll take you to a place where you can get better."_

_She takes it uncertainly, and he remembers her well-justified history with needles. But the past isn't her concern. She looks to him again and asks, " Will… she have bad dreams?"_

_"I'm not going to lie to you," he says, and there is no reason for him to lie, no bigger picture forcing him to be foresworn. At this moment, from now until the End, it is just her and him, and there is nothing else to consider._

_ "I don't know. But you're strong enough to face it." It's not empty praise. It's a fact._

_She takes the sedative and slowly puts it to her arm. With a final nod of confirmation from him, she activates it. Almost immediately, medicinal chemicals cut through the adrenaline that was fueling her, and she stumbles forward into him._

_" She'd like that," she murmurs into his shoulder, fighting the sedative just a bit longer. "It hurts when she—when I remember me. But she wants to remember." And so she passes out, held up only by the Commander._

_With uncommon care, he lifts her, carrying her down the docks to the emergency team. The docks come alive, people moving again after the resolution. Garrus, their emergency sniper, is trotting back along the outer lanes, while Ashley Williams watches from nearby . Laying Talitha down on the prepared stretcher, Shepard doesn't look up as Lieutenant Girard came trotting up._

_"Is it over Commander?"_

_"She took the sedative. She wants to get better, Lieutenant."_

_"Thanks Commander. That means a lot," the younger officer babbled. "I didn't want to hurt her. It's just, when I see her curled in a ball, shivering- She was only six when they took her. Why the hell are we out here if we can't even keep one little girl safe?"_

_Shepard looked at Girard, the look of displeasure missed by all but Ashley._

_"Bad things happen to good people, Lieutenant," Shepard explained carefully." That's why you and I are here. Don't wring your hands over her – help her." It shouldn't have had to be said. Of course things happened to the innocent: but that meant more work had to be done to minimize the harm and help, not that it was high time to give up._

_Girard took the rebuke well enough. "Yes sir. Thanks for your help, Commander. We are taking her to a counseling center. They'll help her get better."_

_"She's more than capable of helping herself," Shepard didn't say. Talitha was already strong, and already healing. Whatever happened next, it would be because of Talitha. No one else._

_He would remember her._

---


	3. Rewrite: Miranda

A question: why have more people favorite-ed this story than have actually reviewed? One would think that if you liked a story enough to favorite it, or put it in your community, you'd at least review it.

I'm arrogant enough to think I could have improved Mass Effect's story. So sue me.

I don't own Mass Effect.

Secondary Character: Miranda

---

Rewrite: Miranda

---

"Striving for excellence motivates you; striving for perfection is demoralizing. "

~Harriet Braiker

---

"You're arrogant." It was one of the first things he said to her, back when the ship-board relationships were still being understood. He had asked about her qualifications. She had given them, inherent and otherwise.

"My superiority is a fact," she said evenly. "I have the best genetics, the best education, the best training. I was made to be perfect, and so I am, as close as any human can be."

"You may be perfect, but I'm better," Shepard stated.

With some amusement, she pointed out how arrogant that claim was. She was determined to prove him wrong. It was a matter of pride.

---

"I won't let fear compromise who I am."

It was a decision. Perhaps not the right decision, but it was Shepard's. The Collector base, and the technology within, would be destroyed.

Judging by the expressions of the team, it was unexpected. Perhaps it was unusual for him. Or perhaps seeing the Human-Reaper had affected even the Butcher of Torfan. He turned from the Illusive Man, preparing to overload the base's core and destroy the abomination.

"Miranda, do not let Shepard destroy the base!" commanded the Illusive Man to his Hand on the Normandy. The sound of a heavy pistol charging behind his ears made him pause in mid-reach.

"Don't do it, Shepard," the Cerberus agent warned. "It's not too late."

"Do you really think I'll change my mind because of a gun to my head?" he asked, without turning around. "The only way you'll stop me is to put a round through my head." He resumed his reach, arming the core for an overload.

"I didn't want it to happen like this," Miranda said, perhaps the first admission of hesitation Shepard had ever heard from the woman. She had never asked a thing, not a favor or a debt, and this was how it turned out. Shepard closed his eyes and waited for the trigger pull. There was a roar of thunder.

It took him a moment to realize he was still alive. Miranda's body fell, and from behind it he looked towards the third and final member of the team.

("Cerberus crossed the line," Jacob stated as a matter of fact, though his eyes looked over Miranda's fallen form one last time before focusing on Shepard. "I said I would fight for them as long as I thought they were on the right side, but you made the right choice, Commander. I'm with you.")

("Crazy bitch," Zaeed muttered, before looking at Shepard. "I got hired to help you, Commander, not Cerberus's insane desires. Now let's blow this place to Hell and go home.")

(Mordin stepped over the fallen woman, shaking his head. "Regretful after coming so far, but necessary. No doubt. You made the right decision Commander. Some opportunities should not be taken. Consequences… messy. Always messy.)

(Garrus took his eye off the sight of his rifle. "Are you alright, Commander?" he asked with a familiar note of concern. Looking at Miranda's corpse, he shook his head. "I knew she was a Cerberus die-hard, but this- she should have known better.")

(Grunt loomed over his fallen foe, the muzzle of his Claymore still smoking. Still, he frowned. "No honor in shooting from the back. If I ever turn on you, Shepard, it will be from the front," he promised.)

(Jack ignored him, instead walking over Miranda's fallen form. For good measure, she put a second round to the head. "How's that feel, Cheerleader?" she asked the dead rival. Looking over to Shepard, she gave a twisted smile. "That felt good," she admitted without being asked. "Wish you'd let me do that a while ago.")

("Are you unharmed, Commander?" asked Samara in her serene voice. If she had felt any emotion in the act, her tone hid it well. Her words, however… "Even if I had not been bound by my Code to serve you, I would have done the same. This monstrosity is a crime that cannot be allowed to be repeated.")

("I knew Cerberus could not trusted," Tali spat. Her visor turned towards Shepard, hiding whatever expression was dominating her face. "I apologize for having ever doubted you for working with Cerberus, Shepard," she said, handing him the last element needed to destroy the base. "Now let's finish this place.")

(Thane bowed his head, whispering a prayer. Raising his head, spoke. "That is one killing I feel no remorse for," he confided. "It wasn't just to protect you, Shepard, but also your choice. This is one memory I will not feel regret over.")

(Morinth lowered her gun. "And people call me a monster," she said, before looking protectively over Shepard. "Good," she judged. "She didn't hurt you. Now let's destroy this place and leave. There are things even I will not do.")

("Shepard Commander," Legion prefaced, "we judge your survival as superseding other allies. We will apologize if there is any displeasure over our action, but will not feel regret for this action.)

---

_But, in another time, when she did reach out, did ask for help-_

"Maybe the captain knows we're listening in, and she's feeding false information about Niket making a switch," Miranda theorized as Shepard activated the lift. Canned elevator music played in the background as Miranda paced the limited floor space.

"Or maybe it means something else. Niket wouldn't _do_ that."

"You trust him," Shepard noted with some surprise. "How sure are you of him?"

"I told you, Shepard," Miranda replied, "Niket's had every opportunity to betray me. I'm sure my father tried to buy him off. Niket didn't turn on me then, so why would he now? Niket wouldn't do that. He-" she realized she was repeating herself, and cursed. "Why won't this elevator go any faster?!" she demanded. "When we get there, we'll clear this up. You'll see."

It sounded more like a wish than an assertion. When they reached the top, words began to be clear.

"Listen to me, I've already got authorization to change their booking!" a black man tried to reason. Miranda's paling face made clear who it was.

"I'm sorry sir," the bored clerk said, "but we're under security lockdown. Until the situation in the cargo terminal is resolved, no passengers can be rebooked."

"This isn't worth my time, Niket," another Asari warned. She was Enyala, and wore the armor of an Eclipse Sister. "I get paid the same regardless of how the girl gets there."

"No!" Niket exclaimed, turning on the mercenary with force. "I was told we could handle this my way. We're not traumatizing the family any more than we-"

The final door between the conspirators and Shepard opened, but it was Miranda who stepped out first. Niket trailed off, the two of them watching each other. Miranda hid her emotions behind her most skilled poker face.

"Miri," Niket whispered in surprise.

"This should be fun," Enyala said, hopping off her crate with a grin, pulling out an assault rifle. Miranda and Shepard immediately responded likewise, though Niket only held up two empty hands. The clerk, seeing the fight about to breakout, tried to run. Enyala mowed her down without hesitation.

"Niket," Miranda said, realizing the truth. "You sold me out."

"What happens now, Miranda?" Shepard asked. "How do you want to handle this?" This wasn't his Last Request. His inclinations didn't matter.

"Why, Niket?" Miranda asked. "You were my friend. You helped me get away from my father."

"Yes," Niket said. "Because you wanted to leave. It was _your_ choice! But if I'd known you had stolen a baby-" his raised hands turned into an accusing finger, pointing at her.

"I didn't steal her!" Miranda exclaimed. "I rescued her!"

"From a life of wealth and comfort, a life of security and even happiness? Just because you didn't enjoy it doesn't mean she wouldn't have. You weren't saving her, you were getting back at your father!"

"How did Miranda's father turn you?" Shepard asked, eyes watching all in the room.

"He told me the truth," Niket said, jutting his chin out. "They told me you kidnapped your baby sister, all those years ago. They said I could help get her back, peacefully, and with no trauma to the family."

"I didn't believe it. I told them you'd never do that. That they could all go to hell. Then they told me what you'd done that night and ever since then, and gave me the proof. I called them back that night," he admitted, glaring at Miranda.

"Why didn't you call me, Niket?" Miranda shouted, voice tight with emotion. "We've been through a lot. You could have at least let me explain."

"You had years to tell me!" Niket yelled back. "Years to explain! I _deserved_ to know that you had stolen your sister, Miranda! I deserved to know that you had joined Cerberus. I deserved to know, and I deserved to have you tell me! I- I shouldn't have had to learn about it from _him. _I had to learn about from your father first."

"How much did Miranda's father arrange to tell you?" Shepard asked, pushing the conversation down another path. If there was a common motivator for treachery, it was usually credits.

"Nothing," Niket replied. "He tried to offer, plenty of times. I won't touch his dirty credits. He only told me the truth, and that was enough for me to realize the mistake I had made."

"Damn it Niket!" Miranda cried. "You were the only one I trusted from that life!"

"No, Miri" Niket replied with venom in his tone. "You didn't trust me. You took advantage of me, of my trust. You used me for your own vendetta, just like your father tried to."

"That's not-" Miranda began, but Shepard cut her off.

"If Niket knows about Oriana, then your Father does to," he said, though his eyes didn't stray from the Eclipse merc who was watching the exchange with barely constrained laughter. "Relocating her won't work."

Miranda nearly despaired, but Niket looked aside and spoke.

"Miranda's father has no information about Oriana. I knew you had spy programs in your father's systems, Miri, so I kept it private. But I also wasn't about to give him the chance to break the family by force. I'm the only one who knows."

"Which means you're the only loose end," Miranda reasoned, her control hardening. "This isn't how I wanted it to end, Niket. I'm going to miss you," she said, aiming the pistol, and Niket braced for the shot. But before she pulled, Shepard reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Wait," he interrupted, though his eyes never lost the Mercenary who was rapidly growing bored. "Don't strike out aimlessly. He didn't turn on you for money, he's reacting on impulse because he feels you betrayed him. You acting on impulse in the past, to not tell him, is what started this mess, and you're regretting it now. Will you regret it if you kill him simply because you're angry now? Whether you do or not doesn't matter to me, but this mission was supposed to put your mind at ease before we move on. Are you sure killing him is going to help that?" It wasn't often Shepard was the voice of restraint, but Last Requests were something he honored to the best of his ability.

Miranada paused to consider, and Shepard removed his hand. The moment was tense, and then Niket spoke again.

"He's right," Niket admitted, ashamed at himself and not looking anyone in the eye. "This isn't right either. Giving her back to your father at this point, after a lifetime with her own family, I was just trying to get revenge like you." He looked up, looking Miranda in the eye. "I'll tell him you hid her, that I don't know where she is," Niket said.

Miranda lowered her gun, though her anger had by no means subsided. "I never want to see you again, Niket, and if I do I-"

Niket toppled to the floor, a bullet in his back.

"Done," Enyala said. "Now if you don't mind, I have a shipment to-"

She never finished her statement. Even as she was speaking, Shepard had opened fire, tearing down her biotic barriers. With a roar, Miranda smashed through what was left in an impressive display of biotic force.

There was a firefight, as more Eclipse rushed into the area. Shepard handled most of it, as Miranda was with Niket, damning him for putting her through this while she watched through tears as the medi-gel was too late to save him.

---

"Are you alright?" Shepard asked hours later, back on the Normandy. Oriana was safe, the sisters bonded, but the cheerful facade Miranda had displayed for her sister didn't change the events that had occurred prior. Miranda's Last Request, her favor before the Suicide Mission, had been meant to put her mind at ease. Niket had not made that any easier.

"Why did he do it, Shepard?" she asked. "Why did he turn on me? I know what I heard, but I don't understand."

"What don't you understand? He said it himself: he was angry that you didn't tell him the truth. By the sounds of it, you not telling him upset him more than what you actually did."

"But I didn't do it to hurt him, or take advantage of him," Miranda argued. "I did it to make it easier for him. He would have done the same regardless, but this way he wouldn't have had to feel any guilt what so ever. If he would have done it regardless, why have such a change of heart? Why didn't I see it?"

Shepard shrugged. "You screwed up," he said bluntly. "You bet that a convenient half-truth would hurt him less than the full truth. He sounded like an idealist to me; idealists think differently, tend to place more value on unvarnished truths than you or me."

"He was, but that doesn't excuse my failure," she said. "I was designed to be perfect, Shepard. I don't, can't, make mistakes like that. You wouldn't have made a mistake like that, of trusting someone to the point of blindness."

"No, I wouldn't have," Shepard agreed, "You may be perfect, but I'm better. I wouldn't have trusted him in the first place." He wouldn't have trusted anyone so completely in the first place. Miranda began to glare, but Shepard continued. "You can fixate on your genes and upbringing all you want, Miranda, but it won't change who you are. You're you, regardless of that. I'm me. I am Commander Shepard: I'm defined by my nature and character, and no amount of training or genetic tailoring will ever match that. As long as you fixate on defining yourself by your genes and relations and perfect impulses, rather than on changing yourself, you'll keep making mistakes like that."

Miranda looked hard, angry even, but then relaxed.

"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Perhaps I am too fixated on my tailoring, and assuming that whatever I feel must be correct because it comes from them. That's a fallacy, even." She smiled, and straightened herself at her desk.

"I'll be ready for the mission, Commander," she promised. "Thank you."

---

"I won't let fear compromise who I am."

It was a decision. Perhaps not the right decision, but it was Shepard's. The Collector base, and the technology within, would be destroyed.

Judging by the expressions of the team, it was unexpected. Perhaps it was unusual for him. Or perhaps seeing the Human-Reaper had affected even the Butcher of Torfan. He turned from the Illusive Man, preparing to overload the base's core and destroy the abomination.

"Miranda, do not let Shepard destroy the base!" commanded the Illusive Man to his Hand on the Normandy. But there was no sound of a heavy pistol charging behind Shepard's ears to make him pause in mid-reach.

"No."

There were no comedic stumbles, no looks of shock and disbelief. Without theatrics, the Illusive Man repeated his command. "That's an order, Miranda," he ordered.

"Then consider this my resignation," she said, and shut off her omni-tool.

Shepard paused as she handed him the last piece needed to blow up the Collector base. As they shared a grip on the disc, he looked her in the eyes. Apparently he found whatever he had been looking for, because he nodded and accepted the disc.

"You've gotten better," he said, and she nodded back.

---

_Fin_

_---_

Author notes:

Some things I felt needed mentioning, though not necessarily at the beginning of the page.

This is, quite obviously, a re-imagining of some of the scenes of Mass Effect. Mass Effect has a great script, and you'll see I rip off quite a lot, simply because it is quite good. But some parts are not, and I feel no remorse in changing them for what I consider to be better.

For example, Niket. What was the point in making him a sell-out? It completely clashed with his buildup and the rest of his motivation: that he was a morally good, ethically superior person, the one good friend Miranda had. His betrayal hurt because it was supposed to be the last thing she saw coming, and the fact that he brings up her kidnapping her sister and lying to him about Cerberus only highlight it, that the betrayal is the result of Miranda's own dubious activities and lies. It's a karmic cycle, with the virtuous soul who helped her for the good reasons in the past is now against her for the same.

But sellout!Niket ruins all of that. It takes away almost all the sympathy and delimma facing Miranda. What could have been a very deep story of betrayed trust and betrayed idealism is instead relegated to 'everyone is corrupt.' Miranda being in the ethical darker spot, even in such a sympathetic mission, actually improves the story. The best way to improve Miranda, in general, is to make her loyalty mission that much more incisive, and that's best done through Niket.

Another is her status as a Cerberus loyalist. In the final mission, she'll quit Cerberus if you destroy the base regardless of whether you did her loyalty mission. That just doesn't make sense: she's the Cerberus loyalist, and nothing gives reason to change that. It makes sense for her to try to uphold the Illusive Man's command, and it fits the dark theme of the story (and the suicide mission) if your other partner kills her for it. She should be the one person who would want to save the base if you decided to destroy it. Everyone else, from Jacob on down, either has the morals to reject it or is personally loyal to Shepard. Besides, it's not like Miranda would live if she _wasn't_ loyal to Shepard, right?

There will be some more of these re-imaginings, later. Probably not as long, though.


	4. The Justicar and the Renegade

Here's the next one. It's been on my list, and someone asked for Samara in particular, so…

Don't expect to be happy.

Secondary character: Samara

---

**The Justicar and the Renegade**

---

" I've got the name of her ship," Shepard stated without bothering to give any greeting. "Your fugitive left here two days ago on the AML Demeter." He tossed a data file on the police desk, letting her see for herself. Her eyes scanned the scrolling text, and Samara read the fact for herself.

" Shepard, you impress me," she said. "You fulfilled your part of the bargain, and I will fulfill mine." A promise to follow him on this suicide mission of his. He needed a skilled biotic, while she was willing for any path that allowed her to leave this police station without further bloodshed. Quid pro quo, she believed the human saying went.

But Shepard wasn't accepting. Not yet. "You are sworn to follow a code that dictates your decisions," he said. "But I'm running a military operation. It's my job to make difficult decisions."

Samara raised an eyebrow. 'Difficult decisions' sounded like a euphuism for choices few civilized species would countenance. "You wonder if I will refuse to follow orders because of my Code?" she asked, being frank.

" I can't allow that to happen," he admitted, his red eyes analyzing every minute detail of her expression.

So she told him the truth. "By agreeing to follow you, I am compelled to swear the most difficult of Justicar oaths. A third oath, an oath of Subsumision. After I do, your orders will override the Code. You should know, however, I will still give you my opinion when the situation warrants, however."

Shepard nodded. "Then do it," he said, his first command over her.

Samara knelt, head bowed, and let the biotic energy flow from within her. To most species, it was pure theatrics, but to a Justicar- "By the Code, I will serve you, Shepard. Your choices are my choices. Your morals are my morals. Your wishes are my Code." With the culmination of her code, a flare of biotic energy erupted, before all the energy withdrew, marking the contract. Still, there was more to be said.

"I will obey you unquestioningly in all your commands," she said, "but if you make me do anything dishonorable, I may need to kill you when I am released from my Oath."

"Released?" Shepard asked, and she wondered just how long he had expected from her. Perhaps her gamble on his character had been misplaced. But now it was too late, and she was bound to answer.

"It will endure until the end of your mission, however long it may be," she said. "Once we have attacked the Collectors, and your mission complete, I will be released to return to my role as Justicar."

"The mission is never over," Shepard said, and for him it never was. She could see that he was one of those types of people. "But regardless, I believe I understand. We will return to the Normandy, and you can meet the rest of our team."

Samara fell in step behind him as they left the police station. "Truly, the life of a Justicar can get lonely," she shared. "I admit, I am looking forward to serving with a company of honorable heroes."

He seemed to spasm for a moment, as humans were wont to do in mirth.

---

The second human she met on the Cerberus vessel, at least, gave nothing to disprove her hopes. Later, she wondered how she would have felt if he had.

But Jacob was an honorable hero, of a type she felt genuinely comfortable around. Later encounters only improved her opinion of his honor and self-control, traits she understandably held in high regard.

" Welcome to the Normany, Samara," Jacob had greeted her, shaking her hand as was human custom. "We've studied your profile extensively. With your skills, I think you'll be an excellent addition to our team."

Samara nodded at the due praise. "Thank you. From an organization such as yours, that is high praise indeed." If Jacob had any hesitance to her being an alien, the Cerberus soldier hid it well enough to escape even her notice.

"Samara is powerful," Shepard added. "I've seen her biotic powers at work, and they are substantial." Power. Skills. Force seemed to be the language Shepard understood: disappointing to Samara, perhaps, but not in itself unreasonable. Even if the one she was bound to was a man of violence, violence in itself need not be used for evil.

The next minutes were spent sorting out where Samara would reside, and other such necessary details. When they were resolved, Shepard tasked Jacob to show Samara to her quarters. She naturally took the chance to question Jacob, about himself and the Commander.

"You're not the first one to ask me that," Jacob said with a chuckle after she asked him why a man such as he was with Cerberus. "The Commander asked the exact same thing."

"And what did you say?" she prompted.

"That I'm with Cerberus as long as they get the right things done," Jacob said. "No less, no more."

"And do you have faith that Commander Shepard will get the 'right' things done?" Samara asked, the most direct question she had asked to date.

To his credit, Jacob gave it thought. "Yes," Jacob said eventually. "Sometimes his methods worry me, but I believe in his goals."

But for Samara, it was the methods that were the concern. One day, the mission would be completed. One day, there would be a reckoning.

---

Time… does not heal all wounds. Samara knew that, from centuries of experience. But she also knew that it did not make doubts go away. Shepard's actions were one such doubt, and they did not become any more clear the more she witnessed. His allies ranged from those noble heroes such as Jacob, or Garrus, men of honor whom she was proud to call allies.

But then there was the like of Jack, of Grunt. Sociopaths, barbarous savages in action and character. Had she not be sworn to Shepard's service, she would have brought them down for the good of the galaxy. No, for the good of the people of the galaxy.

If she had not been sworn to Shepard's service, she may well have killed him for the good of the people of the galaxy.

Oh, he believed in a greater good. That was clear. He was not a hypocrite, though being so would have made him that much less dangerous.

But he cared not about individuals. He didn't care about Justice. Lives were numbers and statistics to him. That the targets of his actions were mercenaries, thugs, people she herself would justly take down, that was irrelevant. Not to her, but to him. She worried that one day he would find that an innocent's life was the quickest way to victory, and she would be bound to stand by and watch.

He had not crossed the line, yet. Perhaps he never would. But she had fought one Spectre before, one of the best. When her Oath was fulfilled and she was released…

---

"Suit up." She had barely opened her eyes from meditation before Garrus threw her the mask she used in low-oxygen environments. "Shepard wants us ready to move in half an hour," he warned.

"What is the mission?" she asked, fastening the mask. They had a working relationship, and a rather amiable one, but it wasn't in her nature to beat around the bush.

"Possible terrorist attack," he said. "Nothing confirmed, but Shepard's on guard today."

Samara knit her brow. "I was aware he had some obligation or another, but I wasn't aware what it was."

"There's a ceremony going on today, and there's a large protest march going on at the same time. Cerberus got word that some radicals are planning to take action. Shepard wants us on notice, in case it's something more."

Samara frowned. Even if asked to do something by the Human Councilman from the Citadel, it wasn't often Shepard did any sort of public function. It was even rarer that he was placed to protect people.

"Where is this ceremony taking place?" she asked.

Garrus looked at her, surprised she hadn't heard.

"Torfan."

---

The Shepard Memorial Flame on Torfamn was, appropriately enough, built on top the entrance of the underground bunker that had made Shepard infamous years before saving the Citadel. Built not long after his death, it was of the 'eternal flame' theme that memorials were inclined to do, and in this case it was directly fueled by the base's own power system. While the underground fortress had been demolished, its entrances collapsed, it still served the purpose of marking Shepard's legacy.

Not that everyone appreciated it. There were yearly protests, ranging from those organized by the Batarian Hegemony to liberally-inclined individuals who decried the war crimes committed by Shepard in executing even the surrendering pirates and slavers. For groups protesting Alliance brutality, for those criticizing the Alliance's role in driving the Batarians out of the galactic community, or even the professional protesters, toppling the Eternal Flame of Shepard would be a coup, putting them on the face of galactic news sites for weeks.

Of course, the Alliance didn't want that to happen. They had their own reputation, as well as Shepard's, to defend. And so the Eternal Flame had an honor guard with a few too many men and a few too many heat sinks to be called 'ceremonial', constantly servicing the Memorial at all times. And that was excluding the riot police below.

Shepard knew this. Knew it all. But as he stood atop the bunker, looking down at the massive crowd below, it just wasn't on his mind.

"You know," he shared aloud to the nearby soldiers who could hear, "when I took this place, I thought this rooftop was the worst defensive position to attack I'd seen in years. Great elevation, and perfect visibility for miles. Yet I pushed through her losing only eight soldiers. Figured it must have been weaker than it looked from below."

"And now that you're on top?" asked a Lance Corporal watching over the ramparts.

Shepard flashed a grin. "I could kill everyone down there without losing a man," he said. "Those Batarians just didn't know how to fight."

"I'd like to think that artillery coming on the roof might have had something to do with that," said another member of the guard, a veteran of Torfan himself.

"Only if you hide in the holes," Shepard replied dismissively, indicating the artillery-proof spider holes that littered the roof. Many Batarians had been slaughtered while hiding in those pockets of relative safety.

Whatever else he was going to say, however, was cut off when a brick sailed past his head, the low-gravity of the moon taking it to unimaginable heights. Heads turned, looking into the crowd to see who had thrown it. It wasn't hard, though, as the person who had was standing on a platform over the rest of the crowd.

"Shepard!" cried the man. "You're a Butcher, and nothing else! We will not let you get away with your crimes! We will bring you to justice!" he shouted, waving a fist. All around him, like-minded humans, and even a few Batarians, shook their fists in solidarity. "We will take you to court, and leave you to rot in jail with the rest of the war criminals! You betrayed the Council at the Citadel! You betrayed your men here on Torfan! You are a traitor to the galaxy and to the human race for your murders!"

Samara watched passively, herself largely ignored by the mob below. She could see, however, other members of her squad taking positions. Garus, farther back in a sniper's nest, was painting the brick-thrower with an invisible laser.

"Who's he?" she heard Shepard ask. "He seems to have something against me."

"That's Neil," said the captain of the Honor Guard. "Professional angry-man, if you know what I mean. He gets a lot of attention, and power, in finding some cause or another to protest. He's led more than one attempt to stop the flame."

"Is he dangerous?" Shepard asked.

"He's not lethal-force dangerous. He's just a useful idiot, taking advantage of his right to protest. Admiral Hackett's ordered he not be arrested unless he does something remarkably stupid, so he gets away with protesting."

Shepard grunted, summarizing his opinion on such rights. Hackett couldn't risk a PR disaster by being too heavy handed on the matter, and so the very memorial to the renegade Butcher of Torfan couldn't be handled in a way the Butcher of Torfan would have liked.

"Well, as long as he stays that way-" Shepard began, but was cut off as the sound of rounds in the air echoed over the Memorial. Reacting to years of experience, he immediately ducked to cover, even before his kinetic barriers had a chance to flash.

"Snipers!" half the people at the Flame shouted. Screams came from below as protestors dropped to the ground, more shots being fired into the air.

Shepard's own team, and the Honor Guard, tried to counter. But there were too many protestors, too much movement. It wasn't until it was too late, until a hostage situation had already been established, that they could track the shooters. Where once a roaring mob had been, there was a terrified mass, on the ground and hands over head. The attackers were the only ones standing. Circled around where Neil had been inciting the crowd, in the brief ending of fire they had taken positions around whatever cover they could.

In the broad, open expanse of Torfan, that cover was the protestors.

"Shepard!" roared their apparent leader, a Batarian. "Show yourself, or the humans die!" He was massive, especially for a Batarian, and held some sort of heavy weapon in one hand alone. The other arm held onto Neil, using him as a squirming source of cover.

Cautiously, once his shields had recharged, Shepard rose, holding the fire of his snipers with one hand. "And just who are you supposed to be?" he shouted down.

"I am Torfan!" the Batarian shouted, baring his teeth. "I am the ghosts of your past, and I have come to destroy you!"

"You are an idiot," Shepard returned, drawing a bead on the Batarian. "And fortunately, I can kill idiots. Tell you what, though: you surrender now, and I don't take off your head."

"What, and risk killing the human?" it asked, shifting Neil with one arm alone. "I have a bomb on my armor: you shoot me, and everyone around me goes. You fire a shot, and my men start taking down these humans. You shoot them, they explode too," he said, gesturing to the crowd around them.

"You think that will stop me?" Shepard asked, almost confused. "Me? The Butcher of Torfan?"

But the one who called himself Torfan laughed, its voice-amplifiers making him heard over everything else.

"I've watched you," it boasted. "And I know how you act. All threats and bravado, but you don't kill that much. Not really. You let your reputation do your work for you, so that you don't have to kill. I've seen C-SEC kill more people with less cause than you do. I know the choices you've made, and you're a goody two-shoes, Shepard."

There was a peculiar silence that fell over the field. Everyone watched, listened, as any would do when confronted with something so contrary to their belief of reality that they just have to hear it out. Samara felt herself watch as well, though she had been with Shepard for some time.

"You're just a pussy do-gooder, Shepard," Torfan continued. "You go around helping rescuing helpless Quarians, returning dead bodies to grieving families. You saved the Asari Consort's reputation simply because you were asked. You spent mountains of effort to rescue an entire colony of controlled people, when you could have shot them and been done with it." The silence was stronger than ever, and the crowd watched.

"Look at him!" Torfan cried, looking at the crowd. "This man you fear, you hate, and he's nothing! Oh, you remember him for abandoning the Council, but he did that to have the best chance to save you! Every action you hate him for, every action you fear him for, he does to save the most of you possible! The Greatest Good, the greatest number! You fear a charlatan, a man who wants you to fear him because he can't work with anything else!"

There was the silence again. The damning silence, as people saw and believed. Their expressions…

There was once a philosopher who argued that a shared interpretation is reality. Regardless of whether something is true or not, the consensus that it is can shape realty.

"What do you want?" asked Shepard. It might have been a demand for motivation. Or it might have been a question of how to buy this Batarian off.

"I want to destroy you," Torfan said. "More thoroughly than you destroyed this base. And I will do that by showing the truth about you, Shepard. I am going to climb this bunker and destroy your Flame, and then surrender to whoever wants to arrest me. And you will not stop me, because if I so much have a hand laid on me I will kill this entire crowd."

It was a challenge. A test of character, and everyone watched, Samara most of all. While these protestors were obnoxious, insulting, they were innocent in this manner. If Torfan was right, if Shepard did care for the greater good, then these people, whose only crime it was to be here-

Shepard lowered his weapon, and the world gasped. When he took a wicked heavy weapon off his back, it didn't have the same weight or power as that single pistol had had.

"Legion!" Shepard called.

"Shepard Commander?" the geth answered.

"How many shots will it take for this Arc Projector to take out all the gunmen below?"

The AI did computations at the speed of light. "With the lightning-chain effect at full power, one shot has a ninety-four percent chance of disabling all threats below, Shepard Commander."

"You heard the machine," Shepard informed. "I'm not in the habit of giving more than once chance. Surrender or die."

But Legion had already been continuing, and could not honestly stop.

"Warning," the geth platform prefaced. "Heavy weapon unable to differentiate between friendly and foe, and current will follow path of least resistance. There will be significant casualties to un-shielded civilians until the point at which current reaches non-lethal levels."

Torfan laughed.

"I heard your pretty machine, Shepard," it said. "And if you shoot me, then you'll kill a lot of innocent people who wouldn't die otherwise. Starting with this one," it said, indicating Neil. "I'll call your bluff, Shepard." Torfan stepped forward.

One step, and Shepard did not kill him.

Two steps and a laugh, and dead still did not come.

Three steps, and the crowd was rising to its feet, its fear overcome.

At four steps, the Arc Projector finished charging and fired.

Lightning flashed from the end, following the path ionized by invisible lasers. The bolt first hit Neil, stopping his heart instantly, before traveling to Torfan. Torfan's kinetic barriers overloaded, the mass-effect generator exploding, but even before that the lightning jumped to a civilian behind. Without the benefits of a kinetic barrier, that one died in an instant. So did the next one, and the next, and so on.

A few shots were fired into the crowd, but soon the other gunmen were hit by the lightening, triggering explosions which cut off the chain in an explosive dead link. As the bits and pieces were falling back into the ground, the uninterrupted chains had finally reached non-lethal levels, becoming 'merely' debilitating taser shocks that spread through the entire protest march. Later videos of the incident would convince the Alliance, C-SEC, and other police agencies to invest in their own, lower-powered Arc Projectors, capable of tazing entire crowds at once.

But as that was happening, Torfan was rising. A tough Batarian, Torfan none the less stared at Shepard in shock. "But- you-"

"He's still alive, Legion," Shepard noted.

"There was a six-percent probability that at least one gunman would not be killed," Legion reminded.

"Time to finish the job," Shepard stated, charging the Arc Projector again.

"You!" Torfan blurt out. "You're not supposed to- I watched you! I've seen you, how you really act! I know you aren't what the vids portray you as!"

"No, I'm not," Shepard admitted, the Arc Projector humming as it neared full capacitance.

"But I _earned_ that reputation."

The bolt of lightning fried Torfan to a crisp. With no more living targets to jump to, the bolt descended to the Ground, dissipating into the floor below everyone's feet.

Scientifically, it shouldn't have had anything to do with the way everyone's hair stood on end as Shepard turned around, eyes and scars glowing even through the dark glass of his helmet.

---

They had had just one more conversation after that day. The immediate aftermath, on the ship, she had gone to his quarters.

There had been… words. Disagreements.

Only the Code had prevented there being bloodshed.

"Do you or do you not accept that the ends justify the means, Justicar?" Shepard had demanded of her. "You yourself are a vigilante: you're very profession is a crime!"

"I am bound by a Code higher and more demanding than any mundane laws," she had (had she really snapped?) replied back. "Justice can only come through proper actions, and unjustified actions will never bring it about."

"Fuck justice!" he had exclaimed, angry at the day's contests, at her confrontation, and slandering that single highest value she had clung to for longer than his people had been in space. "Fuck your justice, and screw your Code! Life is what's most important, and anything, _anything_, that would get in the way of it is only fit to be stepped over."

"And just how do your actions protect those lives?" Samara demanded, as much as she was able to. Which meant it came in a neutral, calm, tone, and was all the more inciting for it. "You murdered dozens, maimed hundreds, to kill a single Batarian. And for what? Was he threatening your own life? Was he threatening to kill everyone afterwards? No, he was going to destroy your memorial, a memorial for a death you did not keep. You killed him to protect your own reputation."

That silenced Shepard, in a way she had not expected. He narrowed his eyes, grit his teeth, and almost looked in pain when he spoke.

"If you can not see why what I did was vital to the protection of this Galaxy and all the people in it," Shepard grit, "then you are a shortsighted fool who has no perspective or grounds to criticize me. Now get out! That is a command."

"It is very fortunate for you that I am bound to you, Shepard," Samara replied, rising. "Otherwise our first encounter would surely have ended in violence." Shepard said nothing, but one possibility was clear.

'So will our last.'

It needn't have referred to the Collectors to remain just as true.

---

There were no lengths Shepard wouldn't go to complete his mission. She wasn't like that, but she came as close as her Code allowed. She had even gone back to Shepard, asking for his help to capture Morinth. After their last 'discussion', she hadn't expected him to help, but he had. He had gone out, seduced a Ardat-Yakshi, and willing entered into its layer, kept it enthralled with its conquest while she herself had been unable to pursue.

Centuries of pursuit. Centuries of living by the Code. And now matched with the demon she had once called her daughter.

"I am as strong as she is!" Morinth cried, beseeching Shepard to end this deadlock. "Let me join you, and I will be everything she was and more!"

"I am already sworn to your service, Shepard!" Samara reminded him. "I will carry through and accomplish your mission as I promised. Let us finish this!"

Shepard steadied himself, looking at both Asari as they remained stalemated. He made his choice, as he always had, and Samara felt despair as he edged around the biotic sphere and towards her.

"Morinth will be more useful to me," he said.

"_Morinth won't be bound by any Code to turn on me the moment this mission is over,"_ he meant.

For just a moment, she saw that it could never have worked between them. Not with him. Her Code, which she hung to like a raft in a storm after Morinth's departure, had become an anchor around her neck. The very Code and morals that she had lived by, now killed her. Her eyes softened, giving up after so very long.

"You will regret this," she warned him as he held her arm away.

"No, I won't," he said, releasing her as Morinth blasted her to the ground.

And he probably wouldn't, she realized, even as Morinth struck the blow that killed her.

---

MISSION SUMMARY

LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE ONLY

Samara has dealt with the Ardat-Yakshi. She remains loyal to Shepard personally, and prior antagonism between the two appears to have been resolved: favorable resolution of mission likely cause. Loyalty of the Justicar beyond question, given apparent bonds of oath rendered to Shepard. Better than hoped. Cerberus activities will not be affected further by presence of Shepard's team. Relieved to have Justicar' mission completed. Unfortunately, body of Ardat-Yakshi could not be taken for study. Genetic abnormality could have been useful. Subject's expertise would have made her a valuable team member if sociopathic tendencies were mitigated.

---

MISSION SUMMARY

LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE ONLY

Torfan Memorial Incident has spread across Galatic News. Shepard's reputation threatened by terrorist 'Torfan', risking a collapse in his intimidation-factor and ability to resolve/avert conflicts solely by reputation. Shepard's response, while extreme, reaffirmed his reputation beyond doubt, including public controversy and protests. As ability to intimidate vital to mission success in order to save galaxy, judged worth necessary sacrifices to maintain. Recommend tightening of observational security to prevent similar intelligence leaks by observers similar to 'Torfan'. Test usage of Arc Projector complete success: while fatality count comparable to effect of suicide bombers alone, crowd-wide effects promising in terms of future crowd-control prospects.

---


	5. Coup: The Wheels Turn

Part of the delay has been some struggle on how to progress. I've been hit by length-creep: the points I want to write are too long to really be single one-shots, but at the same time not enough to be their own story.

So I compromised, combining ideas and breaking them into parts. Consider this a miniseries. Most (almost all) is already written, and I'll just update every other day for artificial length. After this mini-series, another one focusing on Renegade Romances. I have hopes for that one.

Anyways, enjoy the first part of Coup.

* * *

It is for the best that this Shepard left the Council to die, did not even try to be the Paragon others wanted him to be.

If Shepard had left the Council to die, he would have chosen Udina to handle the creation of the all-human Council, and to balance the needs of the galaxy with human dominance. There would have been anger, division, but at the end of the road there would have been an intact galaxy.

If this Shepard had tried to be a Paragon, if this Shepard had saved the Council, those divisions would have been cracks in the road.

Despite being unscheduled, Shepard's meetings with the Illusive Man were frighteningly regular.

"Shepard," the Illusive Man greeted. "How was your trip to sunny Tuchanka?"

"As if you didn't know," Shepard said, but there was no venom in the retort. Shepard knew Cerberus watched him closely. Cerberus knew Shepard knew. Shepard knew Cerberus knew. They had an understanding.

The Illusive Man took a lazy drag from his cigarette. "There are times it's better to hear the reports from the man on the spot," he said.

"Wrex has agreed as well," Shepard said. "With the Clans uniting under Clan Urdnot, he promises the Krogan will be ready to join against the Reapers. Even the Blood Pack is falling into line."

"I am impressed as always, Commander," the Illusive Man admitted. "This brings all three of the most powerful mercenary bands under your sway. I admit I was skeptical when you proposed putting Zaeed back in charge of the Blue Suns: I wouldn't have expected him to agree to your proposal. But it was well worth the effort."

Shepard shrugged. "Killing Vido and the commanders of half a dozen planets left a power vacuum we could fill. Zaeed owed me, and he's in no hurry to die to the Reapers either."

"And your usurpation of the Eclipse Sisters gang. I had my suspicions when Samara's demeanor changed but-"

"Samara left my employ after the mission," Shepard said pointedly. "I found Morinth afterward." It was a story he had insisted and stuck to for some time, and would stick to forevermore. Some of his crew had doubts, but he had overruled them.

"That she already terrified the Eclipse Sisters made it much easier to manipulate them by fear. The Asari feel just as strongly about the Ardat Yakshi as they do the Justicars, if in a different way."

"Still, these are considerable successes. Your efforts are a service to humanity in our upcoming war against the Reapers."

But it was not all idle chatter and congratulations. After a pause, Shepard broke his own concern, one he had risen several times before.

"Has there been any-?"

Even the Illusive Man did not hide a slight frown. "No," he confirmed once again. "The Council has yet to begin any significant preparations for the Reapers, at least in so far as we have been able to detect. The Alliance rebuilds it's fleets, and the fruits of the Reaper base are slowly being integrated, but-"

Shepard did not curse. It would have been more natural to do so.

"Our sources did come across one fact I thought you should be made aware of," the Illusive Man continued, and Shepard narrowed his eyes at the revelation.


	6. Coup: Blasto

Shepard walked the Illium high roads. He had met with Liara, impressed upon her the need for her intelligence network. And she had agreed.

He had stepped in to review the Eclipse Sisters band, which Morinth held with a mixture of terror and enticement. Choosing her over Samara had provided dividends far beyond resolving a single problematic ally.

He had so many of the pieces in place. The forces, the means, to fight the Reapers.

And now the Council was trying to kill him.

Not in the sense that he hadn't been under threat before for working with Cerberus: they had made their warnings clear. But before he had been able to put them off, as Cerberus hadn't been a direct threat to them. In fact, in integrating the Collector Base they had even dipped lower on the radar. But the Council's patience had run dray, and now they were trying to kill him. He had survived one attempt already.

His ground team had scattered at his command, searching the buildings for his attacker. And now he was the bait, out in the open, daring someone to attack him.

The sound of a rocket fired, and a shell just missed the platform he was on. Continuing on, the projectile hit a skyway well behind him and detonated with the unmistakable force of a Cain.

Shepard hit the ground before the blastwave hit, and so wasn't thrown off to his death. Tracing the trajectory of the shot, he spotted his assassin.

The Hanar discarded the Cain without a second thought now that it was depleted, drawing out another two smaller heavy weapons. Seeing Shepard rise, it gave the tentacle equivalent of an apologetic shrug.

"This One apologizes for missing," it broadcast. "It had wanted to end the Commander's life quickly and without suffering."

Shepard just stared, before saying what almost everyone else did before seeing the first Hanar Spectre.

"Blasto?" he asked, incredulous.

The Hanar sighed. "This One wishes that blasphemous work had never been published. This One always receives that response."

"I'll just bet," the first human Spectre sympathized.

"But you truly must die," the Hanar said again. "Your crimes and continued actions mark you as a threat. This One apologizes for what must be done." A biotic hue gathered around the Hanar as it raised its heavy weapons.

Shepard gathered his own biotics, and fought.


	7. Coup: Mercy

"Alenko!" Shepard greeted, as warmly as he ever did. "A full commander now: you've come up in the world since I last saw you."

"Commander," no-longer-Lieutenant Alenko greeted, mixed tones in his greeting. But there was a hint of a smile.

"I can't say I expected to see you on a god-forsaken world like this," Shepard admitted, still surprised at their sudden meeting. "Your first mission as a Spectre, I take? Congratulations on your promotion, by the way." He spoke as if one Spectre hadn't already tried to kill him. Nothing suggested Alenko knew about the death of 'Blasto': Shepard had known it had only been a matter of time until the Council sent one of his former crew to bring him in, and they wouldn't want to compromise Alenko's conviction with inconvenient history.

"Is that something Cerberus told you?" Alenko asked, and made no attempt to hide his bitterness. Shepard's refusal to break with them had been a sore point with the Council, and only Anderson's stone walling had protected him for as long as it had.

But no longer. An alien Spectre could have been the result of the Council going behind the human Councilor's back. Alenko signaled nothing short of Anderson's consent.

"The Council has ordered you to return," Alenko informed him, as if he didn't already know. "They won't take no for an answer."

"They won't take the proof I delivered of the Reapers," Shepard returned. It was the closest he had come to bitterness in some time, the closest to naivety to think that proof was all the Council required. The Collector Base, the very factory of Reapers? Meaningless to them, though so unimportant that they did not take offense at Cerberus claiming it.

Their obstructionism was beyond what doubt could be dispelled by word or region. It was perhaps even more than willful blindness. Cerberus had raised the possibility that the Citadel itself was not an indoctrination device activated by Sovereign.

"Be that as it may, Commander, things are getting out of hand now."

"Are they now, Alenko? I thought they went beyond the Council's control some time ago," Shepard challenged.

"Don't play me for a fool, sir," Alenko returned. "The Council knows what you've been up to. Geth? Krogan?Rachni? Research into curing the genophage? A flagship with an unshackled AI? Even Liara! You and I know the difference, but the Council just sees Matriarch Benezia's daughter, complete with her own influence network. You're assembling a more formidable army than Saren did." Alenko's voice was stern, but his tone… his tone held an undercurrent of worry.

Shepard looked off into the distance, red eyes glowing unceasingly. "Saren…" he breathed. "That's a name I haven't thought of in some time." The scars on his face itched, much as he had wondered if Saren's cheeks had.

"There's still time, Commander," Alenko urged. "The Council may not believe you, but others do. You can still act from within the Council. Come back willingly."

Shepard turned and looked his former subordinate in the eye, Spectre to Spectre. "And if I don't come back willingly, I am given to understand that you will bring me back unwillingly?"

Alenko clenched his fist, and a biotic aura encompassed it. It was clear enough.

Shepard broke the tension. "Fine then. I understand how it has to be. I will do what has to be done," he said. He didn't quite sigh.

Alenko did, but it was in relief. "I'm glad you will, sir. Things seem to be going out of control of late." He raised his omnitool, signaling his own shuttle, and walked past Shepard.

"Relax," Shepard advised from behind, as smoothly as Saren ever had. "I have everything under control."


	8. Coup: Orders

"Alenko died a hero," Shepard said, more of a challenge to the Councilors than an affirmation of the late Spectre's life. "It was only bad luck that the mercenary band caught us by surprise as his shuttle landed.

"We have no doubt," the Salarian Councilor affirmed.

"His loss is unfortunate indeed," the Asari Councilor agreed. "Spectres are always at risk, but to lose one so early in his career is sobering."

"Still," the Turian Councilor continued, "it was remarkable timing that the Blue Suns attacked. We thought they had been brought into line under one of your allies. Do you have anything to say about this, Commander?"

"A rogue unit," Shepard said, his hologram wavering unlike his voice. "Perhaps some were upset with the manner in which we seized control, and sought revenge by proxy. Dead as they are, I couldn't really interrogate them. I... wasn't inclined to take prisoners."

"You rarely are," Anderson noted. "None the less, it is good at least one of you survived. Did Alenko pass on his message to you?"

"Yes," Shepard affirmed. "I am to return to the Citadel."

"Immediately," the Turian Councilor stressed. "You have been free for too long, and we are concerned about your actions and connections. Returning now would be the best way to mitigate those fears."

"Soon," Shepard said instead. "I have some small tasks that need to be done first. The Quarians and the Geth wish me to stand by as witness to the peace treaty and return of the Quarians to their planet."

The Council looked to each other, saying nothing. The centuries old conflict between the Geth and Quarians was, by all accounts, over, as were all hostile Geth. Shepard had sent a report explaining the difference between the 'True' Geth and the 'Heretics', but no one had honestly expected such a reconciliation. The Quarians and Geth had both been absent from Galactic affairs for centuries: their new actions, and their potential power, were troubling to future trends.

The Asari Councilor stepped forward. "We understand," she said. "Of course we approve of the end of that long war. Return once your mediator duties are completed."

"But do not dawdle," the Turian Councilor barked. "Our patience grows thin."

"I won't," Shepard promised.


	9. Coup: Resolve

"Shepard," the Illusive Man spoke. "Are you sure you are committed to this? Once you act, there's no going back."

Shepard, in full combat regalia, gave no sign of unease.

"I already have the agreement of all the involved parties. They understand and agree with the plan. Any longer and we will be found out regardless."

The Illusive Man drew another deep draw of his cigarette, eyes focused as he continued to think through all the implications, all the angles, of what they were about to do. Was this in humanity's best interest overall? Did the consequences outweigh the costs? Were there more effective ways to act? If there were, neither man doubted that Cerberus would act on its own.

"Most people would think that you of all people would be behind this scheme," Shepard commented. "If Cerberus won't be there, tell me now. But regardless of whether you help or not, we will act."

"And it's because you will that Cerberus will act as well," the Illusive Man said, as close to an acknowledgement of his doubts as he would come. "This is dangerous not just for you, but to humanity on so many levels. But I agree: the Council's actions defy logic at this point. Not acting will be the greater threat to all the galaxy, including Humanity." He took another draw. "And besides," he said, "much of the plan's particulars depends on Cerberus. If it is to go well, we must play our part as well."

"The Reapers must be revealed to the galaxy. Preparations must be started. And our armies must be marshaled," Shepard summarized. "The Council must change course, or else be replaced."

"Agreed," the Illusive Man said. He looked at his chair, and at the data pad on it. "Our contacts in the Alliance are prepared to give us limited support, while our operatives are prepared to lock down Alliance vessels that have integrated Collector Base technology hidden aboard. More importantly, Captain Bailey and other agents in C-SEC are ready to paralyze the necessary systems to make this as bloodless as possible."

"Good," Shepard said. "On our end, the Flotilla has largely finished its return to the Quarian home world. A good number of those ships are ours, and those that have been released to us have been retrofitted. Wrex has also informed me that most the Krogan involved have gotten off Tuchanka and met with the Geth at the designated points. They will meet us in route."

The Illusive Man leaned forward. "That's good to hear," he said, "but I am also concerned about you, Shepard. Your crew will be with you regardless in this, but will your team?" he drew a drag of his cigarette. "Many of them trust you implicitly, Shepard, and you know best how much to trust them. But you know the saying as well as I do: trust but verify. Please at least do that much before entrusting them with anything else: a well-meaning betrayal at this point could be devastating.

Shepard did not stand up to defend his team from those insinuations.


	10. Coup: Archangel

It was Illium again, another skyway on the way to the Citadel. Another beautiful skyline. Another lethal danger.

But he accepted the danger. Loved it, in his own way. He invited it into his own home, cared for it, nurtured it, raised it, all while never doubting it would one day stab him in the heart.

Or blow past his ear at the speed of sound, the wind of it alone triggering his kinetic barriers.

Shepard smiled as the bullet was followed shortly after by another to the other side of his head.

"You've made your point, Garrus," he said, turning around, smile never falling from his scarred face.

"Just wanted to remind you to be careful, Shepard," his friend said. "Next time, I might not aim to miss."

It was Garrus, but it wasn't. Not really. The movement, the posture, the size, all told it was the body he knew and trusted. But it wore the smooth, covered helmet of a higher being. Garrus… Garrus was gone, sent away by Shepard's own command against his friend's own will. Even when he removed that blue helmet, the eyes, face, held less of the charm, the laughter that usually rested behind them.

"I assume you're ready?" Shepard asked as Archangel walked near.

"I am," not-Garrus admitted. "I've made contact with Sidonis and delivered your message. I've also made my own preparations, felt out a few old contacts. With Liara's help, I'll drop off the grid so that not even Cerberus can find me until I make a new team."

"Good," Shepard nodded, before handing Omega's once-and-soon-again hero a data slide. "This is our final plan, our intent, our own cipher of what we intend to do, and the contingencies if that doesn't work. Everything we can is in there. I'll forward Liara our other plans later: if something doesn't go according to plan, you'll be among the first to know."

Archangel accepted the disc slowly. "I never wanted it to come to this," he admitted, letting Garrus come through one final time. "I don't want to do this: I will, but when I start, I won't stop. Not for you, or anyone. You know that."

Shepard forced a smile. "I know," he said. "And that's why you're more useful to me, to everyone, as far from me as possible. We've discussed this: you aren't Tali, or Wrex, or even Miranda. You don't have sway over any major groups. You'd-"

"-be just another foot soldier, I know. Still, I-"

"Remember our conversation after Sidonis," Shepard said. "I'm stepping onto a dangerous path here, Garrus, and I need you with an open mind and clear sights if I fail. If you follow me, you're just another traitor to your kind. But if you, Archangel, bring down the Butcher…"

"I'll have that power to make a difference, at least for awhile," Garrus finished. It was a discussion they had had many times before.

"I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think you could do it," Shepard supplied, trying to make it easier.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I don't hate it," Garrus admitted. "Not just the reason: you're right about that. But you're my friend, Shepard, and nothing will change that at this point. You've done more for me than my father or C-SEC ever did. You're my friend," he repeated, trying to convey his meaning. "More than that. If you were Turian, you'd be my brother. But that doesn't mean I'll show mercy."

"Sometimes you have to stop the ones you care about," Shepard coaxed. "Especially family. Be a better brother than I ever was," he requested, and pushed Garrus away.

Garrus realized he had never known anything about Shepard's family. It was a sad thing to miss.

"This is your last chance," Garrus warned one final time. "Just say the word and we can forget all this ever occurred. It will be like old times. Otherwise, I'll carry this through to the end. And I'll never forgive you if you for making me act."

"Please, Garrus," Shepard said, and Garrus sighed.

"Alright," Garrus said, and put on the helmet again. Not-Garrus stood before him, observed him, judging him by inherent virtue of who he was.

"Consider yourself unforgiven," the stranger said as he drew his pistol, pushed it against Shepard's side, and pulled the trigger.


	11. Coup: Renegade Interrupt

Shots lowered his kinetic barrier before he could react, and bullets began to impact against his armor, but then Shepard, deep in an adrenaline rush, knocked aside the gun shoved Archangel mightily. He watched as the vigilante stumbled backwards off the roadway, falling off and disappearing into the depths and traffic below. Shepard gave a careful look below before turning and limping away with a staggered step and deep frown to where his own ground team had remained.

"Commander, are you alright?" Jacob said first, real concern on his face. "We couldn't hear anything from afar, but the gun-"

Miranda skipped words and had hands already pressing on the affected body parts, blood from the absorbed rounds staining her hands. "Damn Vakarian," she whispered, shaking her head. "I had hoped he would see reason," she said louder, meaning to be heard. "We're lucky he didn't kill you."

"The Illusive Man was right," Shepard said through grit teeth as Miranda applied the medigel. "He objected to the plan. He wanted one last chance to dissuade me."

Jacob, whose mouth was open to say something, said nothing instead. He had objected to the plan. Still did, in some respects. But he had agreed to follow through, and now wasn't the time to raise needless suspicions.

Miranda gave him a quick smile, reassuring him that no one doubted his loyalty. Even after all this time, that meant something to him.

"Call Joker to send the shuttle to us," Shepard commanded, voice a bit distant as Miranda's painkillers kicked in. "We have a war to start."


	12. Coup: Betrayal Repaid

Sidonis these days worked in the Citadel. He was, technically, part of C-SEC, a traffic-control cop. Since the news on dangerous overwork had broken years ago, that particular branch had expanded, and Sidonis spent his days performing a public good, keeping the people of the Citadel safer from crashes and accidents.

He was well regarded by most of his coworkers. He was fastidious, he was dedicated, he never complained when saddled with the worst shifts and never once slacked on the job. He was a private man, but most would agree that he was a good one, and many had forgotten that this Turian had ever turned himself in for murder in the Terminus systems. Those that remembered thought he was making up for his crime rather well.

Sidonis was, overall, an admirable coworker. If he had been so inclined, there was even a fair Turian female who would have been appreciative of any advances from him.

Which is why no one would have blamed him too much for being so slow to react when the first Quarian ships arrived.

Everyone missed the first dot on the screen. He could have been forgiven for the second or third. But as more of the Flotilla poured through the relay to the Citadel, it became less negligence and more awe. Few had seen the Flotilla ships before. It wasn't that they were different, in fact most were old designs of sorts bought from the Citadel species, but it was the density, the number, the concentration that send warning bells blaring in the control room.

The supervisor, a human named Tate, was the only one present at that late shift, and pushed his way over and past the non-responsive Turian.

"What's wrong, Sidonis?" he began. "Can't you hear… the… oh." Because the flow of ships hadn't stopped, had only increased, more mass and accuracy through that Mass Relay than anyone thought possible. And now it wasn't just Quarian ships either.

"Shit. Sidonis, wake up, we have to warn th-"

Tate never finished his sentence, never even knew that he had been shot in the back of the head. Catching his supervisor's body, Sidonis gently lowered him to the ground and stepped around him, shutting the doors to the room and locking down this sector of C-SEC.

The delay in warning wouldn't mean much to the warships that patrolled outside the Citadel. They would, if they hadn't already, detect the approaching fleet. But the warning across the Citadel would come late, and from here all traffic in the Citadel could be diverted as necessary to make this go as smoothly as possible.

Sidonis worked in the Citadel. But he worked for, his life belonged to, the Archangel.


	13. Coup: Opening Shots

Matriarch Alithia commanded the Destiny Ascension, guardian vessel of the Citadel. Thousands served aboard this vessel, which kept eye on the great space station.

In truth, the Destiny Ascension did detect the first Flotilla Ship. It dismissed it, and left it to Citadel Control. As it did the second, and the third. But even before they realized Citadel Control's absence, Matriarch Alithia, a veteran of the Battle of the Citadel, began the combat alert.

"Quarian vessels," she ordered over a comchannel, "you will cut your engines and use micro-thrusters to pull onto a designated vector, or we will open fire. The Quarians are forbidden from Citadel Space, and-"

On the screen, a return image appeared. A quarian, somehow old and frail despite the environmental suit, glared at her. So intense was the body language she barely registered the Geth in the background.

"We have returned, and will not put up with your discrimination anymore!" the old Quarian, too old to resettle on the homeworld, said. "For the Flotilla!" he cried, and ending the com channel with a one fingered gesture to the Matriarch.

"Torpedoes launched!" shouted a member of the CiC.

"Return fire!" Alithia ordered immediately. "All systems free! Activate the Guardian systems!"

When she had ordered fire, she had meant one of the Destiny Ascension's smaller guns, suitable for the small Quarian craft that had fired. She had not meant the Destiny Ascension's main gun, the largest Thannix Cannon yet retrofitted. The blast tore through the Quarian vessel without pause, hitting another few behind it before going into the emptiness of space.

But the Torpedoes it had launched, its full compliment, rushed ahead. Guardian barrages fired, filled the space with interception rounds, but-

"Matriarch, the torpedoes are getting through! They're evading our targeting sensors!"

Were they emitting radiation waves that were messing with targeting? Was her ship infected with a computer virus? Both? Neither?

"Have the VI's recalibrate our targeting!" she commanded. "Stop them from getting through!"

It worked, more or less. Only a single torpedo made it past the defensive barrage. But it exploded as nothing else, far more potent than what the Alliance disrupter torpedoes carried on their fighters. One torpedo alone shook the Destiny Ascension as if it were in a cyclone.

The massive ship pulled through unharmed. But what faced it was-

"By the Goddess" the Matriarch whispered.

-not just dozens, but hundreds of ships, constantly streaming with a precision and accuracy that shouldn't have been possible with the Relays. Quarian ships, too old too weak too common too small to be needed on the homeworld, strapped with the advanced disrupter torpedoes for one last attack. Beside them came Geth ships, not fighting against but beside, launching strikes. And there… were those Rachni vessels as well?

"Ma'am," an officer called to her. "Alliance ships are shutting down! Their crews report that their commands are not responding!"

"Wait!" another one said. "The IFF of the Alliance destroyer _Rubicon _changed! It's now reporting itself as… Cerberus? And it's opening fire on our fighter carrier!"

"Hacking attempts detected! Our firewalls are being attacked by powerful VI programs!" another reported, and the Matriarch whispered the names of her Goddesses again.


	14. Coup: CSEC

"Captain Bailey!" a Turian yelled. "Captain Bailey!"

"What?" he not-quite snapped.

"We are under attack!"

"I hadn't noticed," the human not-quite snarled. The Turian was a good boy, but he was young. Looking for direction.

"Our motor pool is empty," the Turian reported, doing the equivalent of a Turian flush of embarrassment. "All the patrol cars were called to other places just before the attack. All we have now are the hard-lines and elevators and short-range movers! How are we supposed to defend the Council?"

"At a time like this?" Bailey affected surprised. But he knew he was the leader of these people even so. They were good people, even if they weren't in on this.

"Alright," he began, "this is what we'll do. We can't get to the Presidium tower except by the elevators and through the embassies. Jonas, you gather your squad and go to the Wards, keep it organized and evacuate the civilians to shelter. Take, oh," and Bailey listed off the names of several C-SEC officers of good standing and reputation.

"While you are protecting the civilians, the rest of us will try to make our way to the Presidium. Leave the Council to us." To the newer, mostly human C-SEC officers who never really answered questions about where they had been trained, or gotten their combat experience.

Jonas saluted and ran off, and Bailey nodded to himself. The Turian was a good kid. Keeping him out of harm's way doing something good was the best he could do. He turned to face the other arrival, one of those mysterious new officers.

"Gather your men. We'll make our way to the C-SEC academy and secure the elevators to the Presidium."

The Cerberus Commando nodded.


	15. Coup: Krannt

Urdnot Grunt had never ridden in a Geth dropship before. He was not impressed.

It was efficient use of space. It had even been modified to house the organic drop ships beneath it. But it had no passion, no ruggedness to its too-clean exterior. He couldn't help but feel he could simply punch through the wall and twist it like he would a geth's arm.

He brought up his omnitool, looked at the view of the battle overhead. Now _that_ was a fight, watching the Destiny Ascension and the Citadel Fleets try and hold off the Flotilla. Ships exploding, firing, even boarding attempts as Krogan in space suits closed the distance to the Citadel Ships. Most never made it, cut down by fire or missing the target. Those that did would engage in chaotic battles that Grunt had been made to fight.

He had wanted to be there. Had protested his role, this underhanded means. But his Battlemaster had been clear, convincing, and undeniable.

_Grunt_, Shepard had said, _the Citadel is a conquest that has never been seized. The Rachni tried, and they failed. The Krogan tried, and were put down. Saren tried, and I stopped him in the most dangerous battle of my life. Now I have my own hoard. I have fought for every ally, killed for every advantage, and they have not. I make no machination that your own warlords have not attempted. So tell me, my Pureblood: when I do what no krogan warlord has ever done, do you want to be at my side?_

So let Shepard exploit the gains of the Reaper tech in the Collector Base, to exercise mastery over the full functions of the Mass Relay. Let him send the Illusive Man's agents ahead of time, let him litter the battlefield with traps that the enemy was too blind to see. They were only part of the battle. The rest would be glory.

"One standard minute to drop," the Geth pilot's synthetic voice stated. Grunt pumped his shotgun and flexed. Around him, Blood Pack troops did the same, but he paid them no mind. They were expendable. His Battlemaster had told him so, had explained why they were being dropped into the heart of the Citadel tower, where the defenses were strongest, to cut off any cowardly retreat by the Council.

There would be snipers, ambushes, zealots determined to fight to the last to defend the Council. Perhaps even a Spectre. The Blood Pack would be decimated.

Grunt would climb on top of their corpses and be victorious.

Taking a final look in the direction of his Battlemaster, Grunt smiled a vicious smile in gratitude and felt his blood sing in anticipation.


	16. Coup: Strange Bedfellows

AN: As a minor author's note, I have an upcoming trip in a week which will prevent me from posting the story at the pace I had intended. Poor planning on my part. So instead I'll make sure the climax is reached, and then when I return in a month the draw down will be posted.

* * *

Shepard was a number of things. Lieutenant-Commander of the Systems Alliance. Spectre, Hero of the Citadel to the Council. Even Butcher of Torfan to the Batarians. These were titles. But to others, he was something else first.

To the Quarians he was a Captain. To the Krogan, a Warlord. To the Geth, the Commander, the one who triumphed over the Old Machines. To the Blue Suns, partner to their Mercenary General Zaeed. To the Eclipse Sisters, the tamers of the Ardat Yakshi.

The Rachni, the Merciful Savior. He was still privately bemused by that: he had not been merciful in releasing the Rachni. If they had been peaceful, all was well and good, but he had expected them to be a threat, one that would weaken the Turians or necessitate strengthening the Alliance to deal with. Paranoia, gambling lives for no reason but a zero sum game of power and influence. But they had survived, were grateful, and more than helpful in this scheme.

But while he was a number of titles and a number of things to many different people, to himself he had never had a death wish, no matter the danger he threw himself into. At some deep level, it validated his existence and his actions, that he was willing to risk himself. Never a death wish, never suicidal…

Until now, as he looked up the fortified tower of the Council.

"Rachni!" Shepard bellowed. "Take out those sniper nests!"

He had meant with a heavy weapon of some sort: the Rachni armed were far more dangerous than the ferals he had fought on Noveria.

But the Rachni soldiers accompanying him reverted to their most basic assaults, and spit acid far and into the covered nest that had pinned him down. The snipers destroyed the Rachni who took the shot, but the acid reached the cubby hole and soon the position fell silent.

"Forward!" Shepard ordered, memories of Torfan simmering underneath the experience.

Fighting up the side of the Citadel tower had been much like he remembered it. It gave him the home court advantage, as it were. But it was devastating even so. Another passage was gained, and another position repelled them. Heavy turrents showered them with rockets, keeping them pinned.

As he called for more Geth armatures to deal with the heavy weapons, a figure threw itself beside him. Kal'Reegar, Quarian Marine, took a pot shot with his ever present rocket launcher before ducking back into cover.

"I have to say!" Kal bellowed over the battle, "when we said we owed you something we could never repay for getting us our homeworld without a fight, I never expected you to call the favor so quickly!"

Shepard shrugged, but smiled. "How does it feel to get back at the Council after all this time?" he asked. It had been a subtle undercurrent in Quarian debate of late.

"I won't deny," Kal admitted, "it feels better than I want to admit. I keep flashing backto my own pilgrimage, whenever someone tried to mug me or spit on me cause I was a Quarian. And the Council?" he didn't spit in his helmet, but many Quarians these days did. "They left us to die in the Geth Rebellion. Then, when what remained of us escaped, they threw us into the wilderness and left us to die. A people doesn't forget a memory like that."

It was a dangerous track, to encourage feelings of vengeance and animosity against the Council. But something needed to be used to focus this rag-tag alliance against the true foe. The Council had few friends among the Krogan, Quarians, Rachni, or Geth, and was the only unifying foe besides the Reapers he had.

No more musing occurred, as the Geth armatures arrived and began pelting the turrets with their own heavy fire. Kal watched them, gripping the rocket launcher in his hand, but when he sprung for cover he put a rocket down range as well, not in the back of his Geth allies. Shepard didn't doubt more than a few Quarians had done differently, but Legion and the Geth understood better than to retaliate at this time. Later, cooler heads could prevail.

"After this is all done," Kal'Reegar mused, "we're going to be busy sorting out a lot more than just who runs the galaxy, won't we?" he asked, nodding towards the surviving Geth. "It's not going to be simple at all."

"It never is," Shepard said, aware that more than a few Geth and Quarians were listening to the two. "But we'll be moving in the right direction. Survival comes first: we can sort out everything else as we have time." Checking the corner, he nodded to his allies. "Let's move out."

Quarian marines and Geth troopers followed him, as did many more.


	17. Coup: Heartbeat of the Galaxy

Morinth knew she was amoral. It was part of her identity at this point. But amorality isn't so simple, as she had come to understand. As an Asari she was a social creature, but her strength killed those she connected with. She did not care about others, but minded her own actions for consideration of how others would respond to her. She had little respect for the sanctity of life, and yet remembered every one of her partners.

Morinth looked out only for her own interest and own enjoyment, and this was why she led 'her' Eclipse Sisters into battle. A good deal of it was self-preservation. The most important part of it was. Shepard could kill her if she betrayed him, she was sure. But the Reapers would if Shepard failed. Her survival tied with Shepard's.

But she would also admit she enjoyed the company, the continuity. It made her feel good, in a way that mating, no matter how exquisite, never did. Shepard had survived, just as she had hoped he would, and it was a new experience, one she intended to savor.

When she had infiltrated the Eclipse Sisters on Shepard's command, in that initial intent to bring the three major mercenary companies into line, it had been exciting, a challenge. By the time she had been revealed, she had risen too high to stop. They feared her. They loved her. She inspired them and kept them in line like no one else.

But they were terrified of Shepard as the human who had brought an Ardat Yakshi to heel. It would have insulted her had she not accepted it for herself, first when he had brought her into her service and then when he had survived and surpassed her again. Her acceptance of their relationship terrified the Sisters even more: Shepard would age and die in the blink of the Asari eye, but she would bow to him if he asked.

So when Shepard told Morinth to land at and secure the Presidium, the Eclipse followed her without question.

In some ways, it was one of the easier parts of this plan. Lockdown the embassies. Secure the financial district and the Shadow Broker agents therein. (Liara's agent therein, as only Morinth and a few others knew the true identity of the new Shadow Broker: this was little more than protective custody at this point.)

As the sisters ushered terrified embassy personnel into back rooms, Morinth watched them with a critical eye, looking for any fire or talent. Many had pretty enough faces, but nothing she desired.

A Sister came to her side, saluting. "We have secured the objectives," she said. "We also checked the Consort's chambers as well," she added, as per Morinth's instructions. "Not even an acolyte remains: the Consort took them all years ago."

"A pity," Morinth said, and it was. The Consort and her acolytes were said to be some of the most interesting spirits in the galaxy. "Return to your post, Anora."

The young Asari saluted and left, and Morinth watched her retreat. Anora… she had been one of the few survivors of Shepard's attack to find her. (Find Mother. He was only looking for you to get your Mother, she reminded herself.) She was glad Anora had survived.

Morinth watched her, and licked her lips just briefly before turning back to the task at hand. Shepard had given her free hand to do with the Eclipse Sisters as she wanted, so long as they did not interfere with his goals.

Anora had that spark. Nothing compared to Shepard's fire, a flicker that would surely extinguish, but still…

Shepard wouldn't mind one loose end being resolved now, would he? He had a reputation to maintain, after all. In the meantime, she continued the roundup of the political heart of the galaxy, one which Shepard now held in the palm of his hand.


	18. Coup: Memories of Mindoir

Shepard wouldn't have minded if Morinth took Anora then and there. He was too busy fighting through the heaviest firefights the galaxy had seen in decades.

Before Sovereign's attack, the Citadel tower had been one of the most well defended positions despite its openness. Afterwords, it was if it had never been guarded at all.

Sniper fire was devastating, though the Geth made superb counter-snipers. Now it was the melee up these stairs, to the Master Control panel which would control the rest of the Citadel, and the Mass Relay network. With it, the station would be theirs, and the Citadel Fleets that kept arriving to reinforce would be stranded, left to rage impotently halfway across the galaxy.

Shepard charged again, biotic aura billowing as he passed through barriers and people to deliver a devastating slam against a human defender. Even as the body flew away from the sheer force of the collision, Shepard turned and pumped another round through the shield of a Salarian Sentinel who had been standing right beside.

The defenders were no amateurs, turning their weapons to track him as soon as he charged. But he was too fast, and his enhanced biotic amps, improvements stolen from the Collector Base, gave him recharge times that allowed him to move before the fire could rip through his lingering biotic barriers. Spotting another unshielded target, he charged again, casting a shockwave as he went.

Some called it the pinball effect, the way a single vanguard could tear from direction to direction and destroy the enemy's formation. Even as they turned to track him, Shepard's allies tore into them from the front, leaving them with a horrible dilemma: leave Shepard and a few other vanguards to rampage behind their lines, or shift their attention from the foes infront of them.

"Shepard," Thane's com line spoke. "Reinforcements from the east rear passage way. They'll be in the rock garden any minute."

Shepard didn't even try to pick out where Thane was: the sniper was covered in his own tactical cloak, advanced enough that it only faded when Thane had to recover shields from stray fire. Instead Shepard charged once more, throwing a biotic shock wave into the heart of the last nest of defenders.

A familiar Cerberus commando followed. Jacob's own biotic strategy differed from Shepard's: Shepard was movement and attack, while Jacob's considerable barriers allowed him to pick a prime location and stick there. Their breakthrough had not been unnoticed, but most of the defenders were occupied with the charging Krogan on their left and Rachni on their right.

"I'll take high ground, you take low, Commander?"

Shepard gave an affirmative, and the two separated.

When Thane had mentioned that reinforcements had arrived, he had neglected to mention that they were Alliance, or that they included special forces. Shepard spotted the N7 designation on some of the armor a heartbeat after Jacob, and had only a moment to get to cover before the special forces opened fire.

The only reason he and Jacob didn't die was because Cerberus had been leaking more technology to the Alliance units on a case-by-case basis. These special forces must have been deemed unreliable at this point: their armor and firepower didn't match the Cerberus Assault Armor that Shepard and Jacob wore. But they had more numbers, and Shepard knew charging amongst them would be suicide.

Soon the range was close quarters, shotgun range. Shepard and Jacob took turns with volleys, and there was a stalemate of sorts.

Then one of the enemy soldiers revealed him or herself to be a biotic.

Shepard had been on the receiving end of a charging Vanguard before, and it was never fun. It overpowered his own weakned biotic barriers, and without a firm enough stance he was sent onto the ground. Even as he blew the vanguard away with a blast of his Claymore as he fell, another Alliance soldier was leaping the barricade before he could reload. Jacob was too far away and too occupied to help as the woman stood over him, raised her own shotgun, and paused.

"Shepard?" she gasped, shocked but not shifting her gun.

"Talitha?" he returned, seeing the fellow Mindoir survivor through her visor.

For a heartbeat they remained there, and then another N7 began to leap over the cover, knife in hand to kill Shepard in a fashion his kinetic barriers couldn't stop.

Without pausing to breath let alone consider, Talitha turned and put her shotgun through the man's barriers and pulled the trigger. She got another two shots before her former team realized what had happened and fired back.

Shepard recovered and pulled himself to cover, reloading his own weapon as his barriers recovered. He hadn't finished opening his mouth to ask when she answered.

"I joined for you," she said, putting her muzzle over and releasing a blind shot to keep the enemy down. "If it wasn't for you- when you died, I knew I had to do something. You didn't quit, you didn't stop, you never let anything get between you and what you thought was right. I joined, and got this far. Not for them, but because of you."

She turned her head to him. "I trust you. You have a good reason for this, I know. You better."

Shepard slapped her shoulder reassuringly, which also had the effect of tagging her as a friendly for his allies' IFF. "I do," he affirmed. "Welcome aboard, Talitha. Now cover me."

Beginning his charge as she popped out and fired rounds, no one could see the small smile on his face.


	19. Coup: Check

It was a little known fact that most of the Council had some sort of military experience.

The Turian Councilor (and Councilor Anderson never thought of him as anything else) had been an officer in the Turian Hierarchy during his term of conscription, and had fought smaller skirmishes against pirates on the edges of the Terminus. The Asari Councilor had been a Commando of some skill, though she had hung up the leathers centuries before Humans were even off Earth. And Anderson himself had been the highest decorated special forces officer of his day.

No one knew if the Salarian Councilor had been STG, but many wanted to believe so much that he may have well been so.

So when the Council was shuffled into its bunker after the attack, there had been no panicked milling. They had calmly picked up and moved, and when they had learned that the Destiny Ascension could not evacuate them they did not fret. Instead they followed their guards, sat down quietly, and then learned as much as they could.

It had been impossible to believe at first. The Quarian Attack had seemed impossible: what were the people of the Migrant Fleet thinking? Did they really think they could survive a war?

And then the Geth had arrived and fought beside them. Then Krogan, then Rachni, and a number of the largest, most notorious mercenary armies beside them. Any one of those alone had been a war that would shake the foundations of Council Space.

All of them together? No matter the outcome of this battle, this would be a war unlike any other. Every phantom, nightmare, and dirty secret of the Council's past had returned. The news that Shepard led them was almost reassuring, even as battle sounded around them in the Citadel.

They had turned to (on) the human councilor, of course. "We should have had Commander Alenko kill him out of hand, or sent another Spectre immediately after his betrayal," the Turian Councilor spat.

"We didn't know what he was doing," Anderson defended himself reasonably. "Convincing him to return was our best option. Especially when we had no proof he was lying."

"Anderson is correct," the Asari Councilor opined. "We had no sign that this was in the works." She did not send a spiteful glance towards the Salarian Councilor. The Turian Councilor did.

The Salarian ignored them both. "I am more interested in what Shepard's goals are," he said.

"Power. Greed. Revenge on us for not giving him whatever he wanted," the Turian supplied.

"Revenge for sending a Spectre to kill him," the Asari offered.

"I told you we should have sent Alenko first, but you didn't listen to me! Shepard has never desired power for its own sake," Anderson objected. "The man doesn't even track his finances past meeting his costs." He didn't suggest that he was angry at the Council's refusal to help the colonist abductions either. It was a mark of his political maturity. "Shepard is a fanatic. In his own way, he always does what he thinks is for the best. It is why he was made a Spectre in the first place."

"I agree," the Salarian admitted. "But it leaves the question of why this, and why now? What does he hope to gain?"

"Or, more relevantly, what does he hope to stop?" the Asari interjected. The Council looked amongst itself, and the Turian rolled his eyes.

"Ah, yes," he began, finger quoting in the air. "Reapers."

Anderson would not have been the man he was, have gotten as far as he had, if he had not protested. "The Reapers aren't a myth. You saw his data from the Collector Base, and the samples of the technology from within! Even the True Geth, Quarians, and Rachni believe in them!"

It was an old battle being waged once again.

"Councilor," the Asari began smoothly, "the Collectors have always been an advanced race. Their technology has always been just beyond ours: their infiltration network keeps them at the peak of our own knowledge. While we admit they were the cause of your colony abductions, their construct looked nothing like the Geth warship that Saren commanded."

She continued, the same arguments as so many years ago. "Saren created the legend of the Reapers, and Shepard used it to bring the Geth into line under him. The Quarians have fallen under the sway of his charisma. The Rachni play along with the tale, as it absolves them of their guilt in the Rachni Wars."

Anderson glared, but had learned there was no point in protesting anymore. Asari often argued like the sea: they would rise and fall with the tide, but they would eventually just wear away all your obstructions. Despite the STG reports from Virmire, they refused even to consider the risk of indoctrination.

Once, only once and during one of their last conversations, Shepard had shared a theory with Anderson, that the same subtle indoctrination that the Citadel used to keep the Keepers in line was being used to subtly indoctrinate the Council. Nothing major, nothing significant, but subtle assurances that would lead them to catastrophic neglect.

Anderson had dismissed it at the time, calling it a Cerberus ploy and asking Shepard to return. Now he wondered.

Sadly it was the last thing he would wonder as the door to the room exploded. The closest to the door, Anderson took fatal shrapnel wounds and collapsed. He heard, but never saw, Shepard approach, and died with a selfish relief that he would never see what his old friend had become.

Shepard walked into the room, saw Anderson's body, and stepped over it without a second glance. "Hello, Council," he greeted. "The battle is over: would you mind calling for the surrender before any more people have to die? I would hate to have to board the crippled Destiny Ascension after going through such effort to save it once again."


End file.
